Book Five: The Unbroken
by Tiffany Smithi
Summary: The Pact sets out for Orr, but a Risen mesmer is messing with communications. Pact Champion Fiona anxiously tries to figure out the problem while the Pact's tenuous alliance threatens to crumble. When she finds the perpetrator, she is promptly captured to keep her silent. Will she be able to get news of Syska to the Pact before Zhaitan's scheme to strike at its foundation succeeds?
1. Chapter 1a: Prologue: Destiny's Child

THE UNBROKEN

* * *

Summary: Braham, Malena, and Reistr discuss what's next for the Legendary Trio, which results in them deciding to join the Pact. Afterward, Braham thinks about what he saw of Destiny's Edge, and grudgingly admit that they're a good team. Meanwhile, Destiny's Edge is planning what to do now, and Caithe brings up Scarlet Briar. She manages to get them to commit to fighting her - without divulging the secret. As she leaves the conversation, she ponders her secret and how Wynne and the human twins tie into it. Destiny's Edge, meanwhile, talk about Braham, and Zojja tells Eir that they'll all be there for her if she wants to talk. The next day, Zojja speaks to Braham about Eir, but he sends her away. Braham sends a message to Eir, but her reaction probably isn't what he expected. Later, Destiny's Edge talk to the dredge about Scarlet and plan their next move.

* * *

Prologue: Destiny's Child

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

Hello everyone! No, I am not dead. I am sorry for making you wait… what, two months? Two months or so since I posted the end of _Trinity Rising_. Well, I did post the first few chapters of _The Unbroken,_ but I found that I was having difficulty writing it like I've written all the other books. So, I took it down, and am waiting until the current plotline is written to post it.

But I got to worrying, since I never posted anything on the end of _Trinity Rising_ to tell you about this, so you are all likely feeling very confused and perhaps betrayed right now. (Unless you haven't read the other books, in which case… be wary of spoilers. Obviously.)

So this prologue is a way for me to say what I just said, and also to give you some teasers.

Also, a note on capitalizations; since the Pact is so new, only a few select people - Tiffany, Forgal and Fiona - say 'the Pact.' All the others refer to it as 'this pact' or even 'the pact' without any capitals. Don't worry, the Pact will acquire it's full capitalization as time goes on.

_**Okay, here's the story now:**_

* * *

The day after the Battle of Lion's Arch, the Legendary Trio - yet to be named something actually legendarily awesome - had helped the newfound alliance of the Orders run the Risen off of Claw Island.

They had all thoroughly enjoyed fighting alongside the Pact, and had even gotten a few charr to use their unique brand of battle cries.

Braham grins at the memory. "Hey, Getter!" he calls to Malena. "Think what's-her-name, Sarria, might get the rest of her warband to start using the Trio Call?"

"Well, Basher," Malena notes humorously, "I suppose it depends if her warband are like her or not."

Braham shrugs. "I guess there's not much we can do about that."

"So what do we do next?" Reistr asks, walking over. "We've helped save Lion's Arch from _total_ destruction, got some practice beating up Risen, made some useful contacts in the realm of dragon-fighters - what's next for the Legendary Trio?"

"Bash stuff," Braham replies enthusiastically.

"We'll get all of them," Malena smirks.

"And I'll burn the bodies," Reistr agrees. "But really, what's next? The Legendary Trio can't sit around doing nothing!"

"I still say that's not our official name," Braham grumbles.

"I agree," Malena shrugs. "It's not a name like Destiny's Edge or anything."

"Ah, but see, I've been thinking," Reistr tells them, "if we all get to be super-famous and _legendary_, then anytime some young norn thinks about being _legendary_, then he'll think of us. Make sense? Once our legends are all that's left of us, we can't control how much our legends are remembered, and that's the important part. If we're thought of every time somebody else wants to be legendary - something that every norn thinks about - we'll _never_ be forgotten."

"Good point," Malena notes. "But it's so… unimaginative."

"If unimaginative is what it takes to become legendary, so be it," Reistr points out. "Now can we _please_ get around to figuring out what to do next, preferably with a focus on becoming legendary?"

Braham snorts a laugh. "Sure, Burner."

"Our usual tactic has been to wander around and look for adventure," Malena muses. "So what's the most obvious legend-building opportunity at the moment?"

The question falls on silence, a silence that quickly becomes derisive when Braham snorts. "We're all stupid," he notes. "We fight dragon minions. All the great legends have to do with dragons. And the best place to do that is by joining the Vigil."

"If I'm right, this new pact is going to head to Orr," Reistr frowns. "The only dragon minions we'll be battling there will be Risen."

Braham nods. "You're right. I can't bash Risen - they don't care about being turned to mush. I don't see why the Burner cares, though - burning must be the most effective tool against Risen."

"Hey, maybe just bash 'em with something sharp on the end," Malena suggests. "Protection can do that, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, but still," Braham grumbles. "I'd have to start shouting about impaling, and that's not right. I think Sarria took that one, anyway."

"No, she's the Cutter now," Reistr corrects. "Augurna's the Impaler."

"Whatever!" Braham sighs. "So what are we going to do?"

"This whole pact thing is the most obvious opportunity," Malena points out. "Fighting dragons is also how several other people have decided to make their legends - that Forgal fellow who was leading our charge on Claw Island seemed rather well-known among the Vigil, not to mention Eir Stegalkin."

"But don't forget that girl, the one Munin told us about, who was captured by Svanir," Reistr speaks up suddenly. "What was her name, Over or something? Fighting dragons has a very large risk vs reward balance - she was lucky her friend came to save her."

Braham frowns, trying to remember the story the skaald had told them. "That all happened around the time the sylvari happened, right? Before we were born. And her name wasn't Over - I remember asking because I misheard - "

Reistr snickers. "Of course you misheard," he inserts.

Braham rolls his eyes. "And I never understood why the Svanir would capture a female, anyway."

"Asvor, that was her name," Malena recalls. "Braham, the Svanir don't think we're _useless_… we're just supposed to be docile and domestic. There are _some_ things females are useful for," she grimaces. "I don't want to think about what the Svanir did to her. Her friend brought her through Cragstead, seemed really worried about her - the way Munin told it, he was rather battered up, too, from fighting them to get her free. They both stayed a few days in Cragstead to recover, and then they headed back out to beat up the Svanir. They were victorious that time."

"Didn't Munin say something about returning for a lost item?" Braham asks with a frown. "Really important?"

"Yeah," Braham nods. "Munin himself tried to stop them - they couldn't go back that soon - but they insisted on going. Asvor had lost something extremely important, it couldn't wait - but Asvor wouldn't say what it was."

"The point is," Malena reminds them, "it's dangerous fighting dragon minions. The price for losing to Risen is death and corruption. But, as far as I can tell, if we _don't_ lose…"

"The benefits are rather high," Reistr agrees. "Experience fighting things, experience knowing when to run for our lives - hey, that's a valuable skill!" he protests at laughs from his friends, before continuing, "not to mention the rather high chance of gaining a reputation in the field of fighting dragon minions, and maybe outside of it, as well. Fighting dragons is very important to Tyria, you know, and if we do a good enough job, we might become well-known. Everyone knows about the Vigil."

"If not the specific people within it," Braham notes. "But fighting dragons will go on forever, so I don't particularly mind if it's only the other people who fight dragons that will know about us."

"Yeah, that or we kill the dragons and become the most world-known legends _ever_," Malena notes with a roll of her eyes.

"Yes!" Reistr agrees enthusiastically. "We'll beat up all the dragons, all their minions, push back the corruption and be the champions of the world!"

"If it's even possible," Braham frowns.

"Well, that's decided!" Reistr announces before Braham can continue. "We're all agreed that burning dragon minions is the way to go?"

"I'll bash 'em up for you so they squiggle out of the fire," Braham offers.

"Neither of you have said anything about finding the minions in the first place," Malena chastises. "Don't worry, I'll get 'em for you."

"If you say so," Braham notes. "You're the only one who doesn't have sound effects."

Malena rolls her eyes. "Getting doesn't have sound effects. That's counter-intuitive. If they hear me, I'm toast. You might have a sound effect, but it's vocal. Reistr at least has the actual sound of flames to back him up."

"Shouting 'kuh-bam' is better," Braham tells her. "Flames are quiet unless they're crackling, and you can't control that unless you're an elementalist. Besides, it allows me to not have to hear the unnatural silence upon dying that dragon minions have. Anything else will normally scream in pain."

"Fair," Reistr allows. "Can't argue with an all-natural sound effect, though."

"Go play with a sylvari," Braham smirks. "See how well _they_ like fire."

"Hem-hem," Malena says loudly. "So how are we gonna do this? Are we going to join this pact separately of the Orders, or join the Vigil, or the Priory, or the Order of Whispers, or what?"

"Vigil," Braham replies.

"I thought the Order of Whispers sounded interesting," Reistr frowns.

Malena grimaces. "I was going to go with the Durmand Priory, but we can't all be separated like that."

"Why would you want to join the Priory?" Braham wonders. "Sounds boring."

Malena snorts. "When I start utilizing a Priory device that can squish Risen on command, you'll wish you'd joined me. But the point still stands - we can't do that, or we'll all be separated and will probably never see each other again. Sure, they're all one unit now, but they still have different methods and specialties."

"And if we join the pact independently, we'll… what?" Reistr frowns. "Be the people who fill in the blanks and vacancies?"

"That sounds off," Malena points out. "We'd be put where we could do the most good… which is together, and in keeping with our abilities. If we joined an individual Order, that might not be as important to the higher-ups."

"So that's what we'll do," Braham says decidedly.

* * *

As Monday draws to a close, Braham is walking through Trader's Forum, looking at all the destruction that Zhaitan's champions had wreaked. He had had the opportunity to be up close and personal, keeping one of them down while Destiny's Edge took on the other.

He had been amazed at their teamwork and strategy; they _clicked_, fit together somehow. They weren't a haphazard group thrown together, just throwing things at the dragon until something worked; they knew each other's strengths and weaknesses, and relied on each other as a team.

Much like the Legendary Trio, in fact - just… better.

Braham isn't sure what to make of this. The words 'Destiny's Edge' take on a whole new meaning to him - it is no longer the group that his mother left him to fight with; it is no longer the group that failed, that made Eir's desertion in vain - no, it is a guild, a close-knit group of those dedicated to the cause of protecting Tyria - at any cost.

Braham can see their reasoning, can understand Eir's decision to leave, but he doesn't quite agree. When the cost is _family_… who sacrifices family? For _anything?_ Braham huffs. _They weren't even consistent with that,_ he grumbles. _Apparently the loss of a teammate is too much._ He wonders how anyone could say 'friends over family' and mean it. Not when they have any family left, that is - and Eir had as good as disowned him when she abandoned him.

Braham knows that Eir will always haunt him, particularly if he takes up the dragon-fighting business. In one way or another, she will be there - as a legend to surpass, as a dark taint on his past, an obstacle to overcome, or even just a simple reminder of what he had lost.

But he has Malena and Reistr. They are his family now, since his father had died, and with their help, he can surpass any accomplishment Eir might achieve. The strength of the pack lies in loyalty.

* * *

As Eir approaches the place that she and her allies had decided to meet, she hears Logan's voice.

"It was worth a try. I'm not surprised we lost - it was three to four, at best, and three to five if you count Sandy. Which I do."

"Hey," Rytlock notes as Eir comes around the corner, "what if we have another go of it? See what's changed in five years. Maybe exploding arrows won't surprise us so bad," he concludes with a chuckle.

"What, Dragonspawn's Destiny versus Edge of Steel?" Eir asks. "It might be intriguing, but it wouldn't be the same. Snaff is gone."

A momentary silence falls on the group. Snaff had been the life and spirit of Destiny's Edge. Now, Eir knows, the group is little more than a machine, taking down dragon champions with brutal efficiency.

"It's different, without him," Caithe says quietly, after a moment. "We have to carry on his legacy."

"Right," Rytlock agrees, huffing as if to dispel the somber mood. "What now? We've busted Zhaitan's store of champions - I doubt it has any more - and Destiny's Edge can't sit around doing nothing while this pact moves against it."

"The pact seems fairly capable," Caithe points out. "If anything, they will cull Zhaitan's army a fair amount. They are going to move in on Orr."

"I agree," Eir informs them. "We will be needed elsewhere."

"Compared to thirteen-twenty," Zojja speaks up, "Tyria is fairly calm. Unless we want to see if Jormag or Primordus have any more, we might not have much choice."

"We're moving into action," Logan notes. "We've always _re_acted to threats. Now we are the threat."

Eir doesn't think so; even with Snaff and even Glint by their sides, they had failed to even scratch Kralkatorrik. The Elder Dragons can always raise up more champions, but something more will be needed to take on the dragons themselves.

"Not quite," Caithe says quietly. "I know of a dragon's champion that is not all brute force - she may not even be dangerous yet. But she is a threat."

"Who?" Eir asks, intrigued.

"Scarlet Briar," Caithe replies. "The sylvari we fought in Sorrow's Embrace."

Eir grimaces. The memory of turning to see Fiona stop the bullet with blue fingertips - an image that had taken a moment to comprehend - and the sound of the bullet clanging to the floor is not a pleasant one. Garm's panicked warning would not have saved her, and he has been wary of Scarlet ever since.

Logan frowns. "But sylvari can't be corrupted - and she didn't seem like she was."

"She worked with Kudu," Zojja sniffs. "Anything is possible - Kudu was playing with dragon energies, and Scarlet may still be down there, tinkering with his perversions."

Eir nods, frowning. "She seems fairly dangerous, true - but how could she be a champion?"

"In Sorrow's Embrace, Caithe called her Ceara," Zojja points out. "The name was familiar to me, so I looked her up - and she's a prodigy. She graduated from all three asuran colleges in under a year each, studied under Beigarth the smith, and even apprenticed to some gladium in the Black Citadel. She's one of the smartest sylvari in Tyria - and more knowledgeable than most asura. If she has taken over Kudu's work, she is probably more dangerous than he ever was - and he managed to get the dredge on his side, if temporarily, and reanimate the Iron Forgeman." The asura sighs. "But, you're right - that does not make her a champion."

Eir frowns. "Caithe… is this about that secret she mentioned?"

Caithe hesitates, and Eir sighs in worry. After all they had been through to put themselves back together… secrets will destroy them.

"She was once known as Ceara," Caithe tells them. "Her very mind has become corrupted, and now she is Scarlet Briar. Scarlet Briar was never anything but a deadly foe; Ceara was an innocent searching for knowledge."

Rytlock huffs. "That doesn't tell us any more than we already knew, if she's been corrupted," he says. "That's how it always happens. But if it was Kudu, what makes her a champion?"

Caithe pauses for a moment, but Zojja speaks up. "She has access to all of Kudu's research and power, and a brilliant mind on top - she could easily have found a way to extract corruption from dragon minions. If she was searching for power, she would have infused herself with as much magic as possible - and if she was smart, she would have tried to rival the dragons for power, so she wouldn't be under their control."

"But her mind?" Logan asks skeptically. "Which dragon is she a champion of, anyway?"

"One as yet unawakened," Caithe tells them. "Her mind may have been her only vulnerability."

"Anyone else getting flashbacks?" Zojja asks.

Eir sighs again, unsure. "It is clear you don't wish to tell us, Caithe. While I wish you would - we've gone through too much together to not trust each other - I, at least, will not pry. I will trust that your secrets are not harmful." She turns to the rest of the group, hoping that this course of action will not blow up in her face later. "Shall we find Scarlet Briar and stop her?"

"Of course," Zojja puts in. "She's Kudu's successor - I won't let her escape for the same reason I wouldn't let Kudu continue."

Rytlock huffs. "Maybe Kralkatorrik got Snaff's end of the laurel and put his own end on her," he speculates sourly. "I'm in."

"I can't leave _now_," Logan points out. "Not after all the ruckus that caused. What do we know about Scarlet?"

* * *

Caithe turns and disappears into the shadows, her tense mission complete. Possibly one of the most delicate plans she had undertaken - and the one with the most risk - bringing Destiny's Edge on board with the plan of taking down Scarlet was always going to put her on edge… especially after the warning that Tiffany and Fiona had given her.

Caithe isn't a nervous sort of person, but she can't help glancing over her shoulder at the thought of the human twins. _They know something,_ Caithe thinks. _Something dangerous_.

The fact that neither of them will tell her what their secret is - when it so clearly has something to do with Scarlet and the sylvari - is worrying. There are not many possibilities - and Caithe knows that Scarlet was speaking of Mordremoth. She had guessed, reached out through the Dream to the crazy Secondborn, and found very little. Scarlet is Soundless, Caithe is sure, and more cut off from the Dream than any other Soundless Caithe had met.

This only makes the possibilities smaller; the Dream keeps the sylvari protected from Mordremoth, even as it sleeps, and the unguarded are vulnerable. Caithe does take solace in the thought that the Dream is with Tiffany and Fiona; they cannot be enemies.

For long the Dream had guided her steps and her daggers, been with her in battle and guided her intuition, and Caithe is not about to leave its safety now, nor doubt it.

And the Pale Mother had been with them. Tiffany and Fiona have the same sanction of the parents of the sylvari that Caithe has; either their knowledge equals hers, or is of no import to her.

_The Dream guide them and the Tree bless them,_ Caithe whispers, so inaudibly as to be a mere thought. She had reached out to them, but the Dream blocked her. She is glad; the Dream could merely have distracted her search, giving her nothing, leading her to believe her guess was wrong. That it trusts her enough to tell her 'no' calms her.

She is not fool enough to believe that means the answer to her question is positive; Caithe had learned how to sift through the layers of truth when reaching out through the Dream. For all she knows, there may be another secret of the sylvari that she does not know of.

But her task is to bring down Scarlet. Her Wyld Hunt may be to slay Zhaitan, but Wynne had - at least in Caithe's opinion - passed hers on to Caithe when she died.

Caithe knows how to step from one obstacle to the next. Winning over Destiny's Edge was one. The next will be in locating Scarlet. Caithe can only thank the Pale Tree that the possible future foretold by the Dream had not come to pass.

* * *

"Eir," Rytlock says suddenly. "What's up with this Braham fellow?"

"He's my son," Eir replies quietly.. "I… left him when he was young. He hasn't forgiven me. I wish you didn't have to see that."

There is silence for a moment, and Eir wonders what her friends are thinking. Suddenly, though, Rytlock barks a laugh. "Well, if you've said that, I guess I can come clean, as well. I've got cubs somewhere in Ascalon."

Logan stares at Rytlock so hard his eyes nearly fall out of his head. "I'm… having difficulty wrapping my mind around that," he says flatly. "Rytlock Brimstone is a _father?_"

"Well, when you put it that way," the charr huffs, shifting slightly.

"It's no odder than Eir having secret progeny," Zojja points out. "Eir Stegalkin is a _mother?_"

"I'm afraid Braham doesn't see it that way," Eir grimaces. "I may be related to him, but I am not his mother. Our relationship is not… friendly. I wish I could have been there for him, growing up, but…" she sighs.

"We should set Tiffany on him," Logan suggests humorously. "She got _us_ together."

"They are currently at odds," Eir tells him. "I'm afraid this is one we'll have to work out by ourselves."

"We're here if you need us, Eir," Zojja says quietly.

"Thank you," Eir replies sincerely. "All of you. Just talking about it…"

"Has made the burden lighter," Logan finishes. "We all know the feeling."

"Hey," Rytlock says slowly, after a moment of silence, "where's Caithe?"

"She slipped off before you asked about Braham," Zojja replies. "You know Caithe."

"And if I said I didn't?" Rytlock asks with a gleam in his eye.

"Then I would gut you," Zojja replies primly, and Logan snorts a laugh.

"That would be a sure way to repeat the arena," Rytlock points out. "With fewer certainties."

"I was joking, you great fuzzball," Zojja sigh, "as were you."

* * *

"Braham Eirsson?" Zojja asks in her no-nonsense voice. The norn and his two friends don't faze her - not with their compared levels of intellect and her experience in this field.

The three turn around, and Zojja represses a smile of satisfaction as Braham glances around for a moment before laying eyes on her. That always throws them off.

"What do you want?" Braham asks shortly, after registering who she is.

"To talk," Zojja replies swiftly. "I can't mince words with you, so I'll just be blunt."

"You'd better," snorts the male norn by Braham's side. Zojja ignores him.

It is Tuesday at noon, and Zojja had given this confrontation a lot of thought and preparation. She could see Eir hurting the night before because of Braham, and isn't about to let her own mistakes be repeated before her eyes.

Zojja had said she would be blunt, but it is not that simple. She can't just say what she thinks - there has to be a stratagem, especially since she doesn't know Braham.

"Eir values her relationships," Zojja begins, "and she did not make the decision to leave lightly."

Braham's face clouds with anger, and he snarls, "I don't care what you have to say. This isn't any of your business - now leave."

"Not until I have said what I intend to say," Zojja says firmly. "I made the mistake you are making, some years ago, and I deeply regret it. I hurt her, and you are doing the same."

"What do you want me to do, talk to her?" Braham sneers. "She's been ignoring me all my life - I intend to return the favor."

"You think she would have done that if she hadn't thought it best not to?" Zojja fires back.

"The fact that she did think that is the root of the problem," Braham replies coldly. "You would think she'd have shown up when Father died, at the very least."

Zojja hesitates, realizing too late that she probably should have spoken to Eir about this beforehand.

"You didn't even know she had a son," Braham's other friend speaks up. "You can't know her that well. Basher, let's go."

The three norn turn and walk away, leaving Zojja still struggling for words.

What had gone wrong? Her intentions were nothing but the best, and she had experience dealing with this same problem. She'd considered it from every angle… but she hadn't known her facts.

Zojja curses her mistake. Facts are the basis of everything - no theory can be applied to a problem without facts. Few theories can even _exist_ without facts to back them up. And now her only chance is blown - he won't hang around to listen to her again.

_Well,_ she consoles herself, _at least I didn't singe him like Hellforge. Being on the other side of the argument wouldn't change the result any._

Frustrated, she heads back to the place that had been found for her amidst the ruins of Lion's Arch to ponder her mistake - and possibly figure out how to rectify it.

* * *

"Eir Stegalkin?" an unfamiliar voice asks.

Eir glances up to see a blond norn boy standing a few feet away. "Yes?" she replies curiously.

"I have a message for you," he says simply, handing over the written missive. He turns and jogs away as soon as Eir takes the letter from his hand.

Unfolding it curiously, she blinks at the scrawl on the page.

_Eir - _

_Don't send another henchman at me. I don't need your problems. — Braham_

It is short and to the point, but Eir frowns. _Henchman?_ she wonders. Garm is just as clueless.

But although the meaning of message very easily could have been intended for another, and although his intent to keep her away from him is clear, Eir finds herself reading the two sentences several times over.

This is her son's handwriting - his hand and signature, his style. The unique way he forms his _h_'s and the spiral that is the lower case _e_ \- all Braham, all her son. And yet Borje is reflected in it, as well; he'd filled in his _o_'s and slanted his _t_'s backward.

Eir carefully refolds the message and slides it into a pocket. Garm sends her _Braham_ and surprise. "No," she replies with a smile. "Probably not how he expected me to react. Come on - let's find Caithe and the others and plan our next move."

* * *

As the Pact gets itself organized and begins planning to march on Orr, Destiny's Edge speak to the dredge who had assisted with taking down Lion's Arch. They ask for information on Scarlet's whereabouts, as she had last been seen in the depths of Sorrow's Embrace.

Their answer is quite intriguing; the dredge had tried to keep her trapped down there, not being able to fight her and not wanting her to get free. This had succeeded for a few weeks, but she had managed to get out of the blockade somehow, and had threatened to bring down the rest of the underground city if they didn't let her leave.

"We need to see what she was doing down there," Caithe points out. "She didn't bring anything special out with her, so Kudu's research should still be down there."

"Maybe we should investigate that Vyacheslav fellow," Rytlock suggests. "He worked with her, didn't he?"

"No," the dredge tells them. "War Minister Shukov tried to order him to stop work on the Sonic Vaporizer, but he wouldn't listen. The dredge have been working with Agent Ifwyn to stop them another way."

"Hmm," Eir says with a frown. "Perhaps if we can get Vyacheslav alone, we can see if he has been in contact with her. If he has, we wait and watch for her to return. If he hasn't, we look elsewhere."

"What do we do when we meet her?" Logan asks. "Last time we fought her, we had allies, and she still got away and nearly killed Eir."

"We can't give up," Eir tells him. "We just need a strategy. Scarlet appeared out of nowhere last time, and we took the bait and chased her into a trap. This time, _we'll_ be the trap. Caithe, if she knows you're there, what influence will that have?"

Caithe frowns. "I don't know. I'd never interacted with her much before Sorrow's Embrace, and not recently. It would be advisable to surprise her, though - if she came prepared we would have a much harder time of it."

Eir turns to the dredge. "Can you put us in contact with this Agent Ifwyn?"

"I can't," the dredge shrugs, "but Minister Shukov should be happy to help you."

"Thank you," Eir tells him. "Destiny's Edge - let's find this Scarlet. Maybe she can't handle us, but can she handle a flood of Icebrood as well as we can?"

Zojja laughs. "You've got a good head on your shoulders, Eir. But we won't need to handle the Icebrood - I'm sure if this Ifwyn can get me in to the Sonic Vaporizer, I can rig a distanced activation."

"Perfect," Eir smiles. She opens her mouth to say more, but thinks better of it and falls silent. She had been going to say that they would test Icebrood versus whatever had corrupted Scarlet, but that might revive the previous argument.

"Let's take on a dragon champion, then," Rytlock growls. "She's a threat whether she's corrupted or not if her followers are threatening to topple the Durmand Priory and allying with the Flame Legion."

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

I had the most hilarious time writing the first section of this chapter! "So what're we gonna do?" "Bash stuff!" Braham says _enthusiastically_. As a note, in case you were wondering: that isn't Braham-bashing (oops… my punning finally got away from me, didn't it? _Didn't it?!)_. I'm poking fun (as Rox always did) at his bashing. Plus, he's a year or so younger than when we meet him in the game… and his friends aren't dead. (I decided that they died when Cragstead was overrun by Molten Alliance, because you can't just make up OCs out of the blue.)

Also, since this was a prologue and not technically the beginning of the book, I get to save all my disclaimers, Guild Wars 2 spoiler warnings, and _Tassof Series_ spoiler warnings for chapter one, so I don't have a boatload of author's notes in one chapter and hardly any the next.

Now, I have an assignment for all of you, mostly because I made a mistake in chapter thirteen of _Trinity Rising_ that was hard to fix in story-form. It works, but it would make more sense if you knew the background behind it (and I'm used to you knowing the background behind things). So, I wrote it all down in the most coherent non-story form possible (aka similar to author's notes, rambling included) and posted it on my blog (which I started several months ago) called Tiffany's Tyrian Experiences. You don't have to read it - the story still makes sense if you don't!

To get to it, just search 'Tiffany's Tyrian Experiences' online. Google will try to give you results for 'Tiffany's _Train_ Experiences,' but tell it that you want what you searched for - but even if you don't, my blog should be the second or third result. There's a search bar on the site itself where you can search for The Dream - Sylvari Connections.

Also, I will give you an estimate - an _estimate_, mind you - of when I will post the rest of the book. I've been slogging through rather slowly the last couple weeks, and I hope that posting _something_ will get my creative juices going again. My current goal is the 24th of October… yeah, that's a long way away. Sorry. I _hope_ to get it done before then - hopefully within a month. If it's _not_ done in a month, I'll at least have the first half done and ready, and you can have that. (And I _might_ go back to a normal posting schedule for the second half, not sure about that though.) Remember, reviews encourage me to write harder and faster! (Literally, so don't hold back.)


	2. Chapter 1b: The Pact Champions

THE UNBROKEN

* * *

Summary: Trahearne brings Forgal, Fiona, Tiffany, Vriré and Sieran together to form an elite strike force known as the Pact Champions, supposedly great and awesome and, well, elite. But the group is _actually_ rather dysfunctional because Forgal is working with a Lightbringer, and Fiona is having problems with the Dream's empathy, and Tiffany is dealing with grief over her sister dying. And Sieran is dealing with low self-confidence and thinks she can't do anything. Into the middle of this mess the earth family appears once again, without the ability to speak. _What more could go wrong…_

* * *

Chapter one: The Pact Champions

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

*Deep breath* EEEE! (I moderated three or four lines of nothing but 'EEE.' Say thanks.)

Warning: This is _Book Five: The Unbroken_ of the _Tassof Series_. If you are not ready to be massively confused by a Tyria that is not as you know it - and therefore more confusing than a world that you don't know at all - then don't read this book. The other books in the series are:

_Book One: Tyria's Real!?_

_Book Two: Soldiers, Scholars, and Spies_

_Book Three: Reforging the Edge_

_Book Four: Trinity Rising_

This book is gonna be _awesome_. Not more awesome than _Trinity Rising_, but you get the idea. (I've got it all planned out! E!)

And, on another (much more close to) mandatory note, a disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with _Guild Wars 2_ (except for possessing two expansions, Living World content, and the three pre-release books, but I don't own… but I do… alright, start over.) I do not own _the rights to_ anything to do with _Guild Wars 2_ (or the original _Guild Wars_, for that matter). I also do not own the rights to any other real-life publications I have mentioned in passing in this series (such as _Harry Potter_).

On the other hand, I _do_ claim the rights to several OCs (characters I made up within Tyria) - most notably Lightbringer Vriré, Asvor Strongblade, and the Spar warband. (I could claim the rights to Leon Traydor and Vargok Hellforge, as well, but those are based off of a real-life person who requested them.) Oh wait, I almost forgot the main OCs… Tiffany and Fiona Tassof, the main characters of the _Tassof Series_, who are based off of me and my sister. And now Fiona is saying 'you don't own me!' so I guess I don't own her, either.

Also… in case you _are_ reading this without having read the other books… there's spoilers up to the end of the Heart of Thorns expansion. I do include content from further on, but that's all related to the nature of Tyria (like the existence of Lake Doric, which is a Season 3 zone, or information on people's personalities, like the fact that Braham is scared of spiders, which is knowledge released in Season 4) and is not really very spoilery. Okay, now _that_ knowledge hasn't been given out before, though I've been intending to say it since the end of the Seraph chapters in _Reforging the Edge_…

Anyway, grudging disclaimers, pointers to my other books, and smug bragging about my own creativity aside, let me say what is probably the most famous (and eagerly awaited) statement in the _Tassof Series_:

_**Okay, here's the story now:**_

* * *

_Someone's gonna die, someone's gonna die, everything's going wrong, please nobody die._ Fiona doesn't know what to do. She glances around, weaving invisible Deception through her fingertips in lieu of wringing her hands. This meeting is uncharted waters. _Oh please don't die. Don't anybody die._ According to Tiffany, nothing like this had happened in the game.

That means that anything influenced by this meeting - which Fiona suspects is a lot - has the potential to go very, very wrong. The last time something like this had happened, a few days before, Deborah had died. And that was a _foreseeable_ incident, based on the changes that had been made to the timeline. _They were ridiculously logical conclusions. Tiffany should have seen it coming. Why __wouldn't__ Zhaitan send another champion or three after we killed the first one? Now someone else is gonna die, there's nothing I can do because we don't know the future anymore, it's all changing, someone's gonna die._

This meeting… not so much. Fiona has no idea what will happen. _What did Trahearne get out of seeing this group in the Dream? Flanking him like bodyguards, no less. I doubt that part will actually happen if he has anything to say about it._ She begins running through people that could die because of this. Deborah had died, who next? Petra - Andrew? Mat and Ayla, or their parents? _Don't be silly, Risen don't go up there,_ Fiona reminds herself, breathing deeply and trying to calm her heartbeat._ It's more likely to be Forgal or Sieran or… yeah, that's totally comforting. Someone's gonna die, because we've changed things and the Dream has changed things and Tiffany can't adapt properly and someone's gonna die._

"All of us are present, Marshal Trahearne," says Lightbringer Vriré, drawing Fiona out of her thoughts.

Sieran speaks up. "Is this about what you saw in the Dream?"

"Yes," Trahearne answers, "and it concerns all of you. The Dream foretold a possible future in which the five of you were the elite of an alliance that had pushed its way nearly to the gates of Arah in Orr. I have since realized that this alliance is this pact which has formed almost over night."

Lightbringer Vriré glances around the circle. "Two high-ranking members of each Order except the Order of Whispers," she notes.

"There are three members of the Order of Whispers present, Lightbringer," Warmaster Forgal Kernsson, of the Vigil, reminds her coldly.

_Oh, yes. And the highly flammable combination of Forgal and Vriré. How did I forget._ Scratch 'someone' - one of those two is going to die first.

"It was merely an observation," Vriré replies neutrally.

Forgal narrows his eyes suspiciously, but returns his attention to Trahearne. "So you want to bring about this possible future?"

"Yes," Trahearne agrees. "My proposition is this: you will function as the Pact's commanders*, as well as working as a team and taking down high-priority targets."

Fiona automatically glances at Tiffany when the word 'commander' is mentioned. Somehow, she doesn't think this will be so simple as 'five Commanders.' Nothing to do with the game's Commander is ever simple in the first place, and having five of them is sure to make Tyria explode. Possibly literally.

"I see what you're aiming at," Forgal notes. "A strike team… that act as Pact officers on downtime."

"Exactly," Trahearne nods.

Tiffany nods quickly. "That makes sense."

Fiona glances at the others, who are pondering Trahearne's words. She wonders what Forgal is thinking, how much he knows about the role of the Commander and whether he had identified that this is what is going on.

Of course, she finally admits that she is just avoiding thinking about the elephant in her mind - what this does to her assumptions and feelings about her Wyld Hunt. If this five-man Commander group is the final idea settled upon, this puts her in the best position to support Tiffany from the shadows, without seeming to do so. Fiona doesn't know why the prospect of doing that is so appealing, but it is.

As Tiffany cheerfully tells Trahearne that she thinks it is a wonderful idea and that she's in, Fiona wonders what had got into Tiffany's head to go along with this mad plan. _Maybe it's the same thing as got into her head when she let Deborah die,_ Fiona grumbles to herself. _And now somebody else is gonna die._

But Fiona can't contradict Tiffany and reject the offer, because that would be defying the Dream. Feeling resentful and bitter and - dare she say it - rebellious over her Wyld Hunt and this emotion-sharing business… that's one thing. Openly defying and rejecting the Dream? No way.

"Yeah, I'm in too," Fiona says with a quiet sigh.

_Although… the Dream could totally have stopped Deborah from dying if it had wanted to._

* * *

Following Tiffany's declaration of support and Fiona's rather quiet, unobtrusive agreement, Sieran sighs. "Well, at least I have a bunch of backup Magisters now," she says with a shrug.

Vriré frowns, noting that Sieran seems… resigned to the subject. _But… backup Magisters?_

"If you have any objections, I'd like to hear them," Marshal Trahearne says slowly. "If you have concerns, please share your thoughts. That goes for all of you," he adds.

"What? No, it's all cherry," the sylvari replies quickly.

Warmaster Forgal sighs. "Most of you know that I have a… problem with the Order of Whispers," he says bluntly, casting a sidelong glance at Vriré. "I don't feel particularly comfortable working with them," the Warmaster goes on, "and certainly not in a group such as this seems to be."

_Look, I understand you have issues, but you're sounding like an emotional wreck,_ Vriré gripes to herself.

"Tiffany and Fiona are members of the Order, are they not?" Marshal Trahearne asks pointedly.

"They're different," the warrior replies with a shake of his head. "The Lightbringer, on the other hand…"

"You don't need to spare me your words," Vriré tells the norn stiffly. One person does not represent the Order. "If you do recall, I know all about your problem with the Order."

The Warmaster scoffs. "You can't possibly know what it's like to have your best friend turn on you."

_How dare he assume that is a rare occurrence, given dragon corruption?! _"You have no idea what I've been through," she snaps.

"Forgal," Tiffany says finally, "Vriré is not Asvor. Can't you at least give her a chance?"

"I don't have any desire to try to cooperate with someone who does not wish to work with me, Initiate," the asura retorts harshly. She has changed her mind. This group looks like a long-term commitment, not a temporary alliance. To be honest, she should have thought of this earlier. This is no team designed to take out one objective - this is a partnership. She will have to depend on and trust these people - and she isn't sure she wants to. The Warmaster is obviously quite narrowminded, the sylvari is completely oblivious and apparently is in the habit of having backup authority figures, the Tassof twins are highly secretive and have their own agendas - _Alchemy, add Marshal Trahearne to that, as well._ He is, at the very least, a highly unknown factor, given his rather odd dedication to his Wyld Hunt followed by seemingly abandoning it for this pact - a lost cause if she ever saw one. _At least he isn't showing favoritism. Yet._

"This might not be a good idea," Fiona says finally, breaking the frigid silence that had followed Vriré's cold rebuttal. "Even if they do agree to work together, it'll just make things... " Fiona gestures in midair, trying to convey her meaning. "I don't know. We should be able to trust each other if we're going to work together."

_An ineloquent delivery, if spot-on,_ Vriré admits to herself.

"Would it be possible for you to overcome your differences?" Marshal Trahearne asks with a frown. "This alliance symbolizes unity, the truth that the different people of Tyria can come together to defeat a common enemy. You were all present when the Orders willingly pooled resources and fought together to save Lion's Arch from destruction - are we to fall apart now that the threat seems to have vanished? Zhaitan will send more champions, more Risen - we can't remain idle. It is our duty to protect Tyria from the Elder Dragons - surely you can put aside your disagreements for a time?"

Warmaster Forgal sighs. "You're too convincing for your own good, Trahearne," he says, shaking his head with a hint of amusement. "You're right, as always. I'll agree to give it a try if the Lightbringer will." He glances at the asura questioningly.

Vriré pauses. All of this group is unknown territory - except Warmaster Forgal, who seems to be trying to make up for the others' unpredictability by being rash. But… she also knows that she can do the most good as a member of this group. She can keep a closer eye on Tiffany and Fiona, for one thing, and this pact's elite need _some_ competency if they are to have any hope of succeeding. "I accept," she says finally.

"Good," Marshal Trahearne replies. "And what of you, Sieran? You seem… subdued."

"Oh!" Sieran says in surprise. "I'm with you, Trahearne. It's all cherry here."

_And bad at pretending,_ Vriré notes to herself. This sylvari is a basket case - why had the Marshal wanted to have her on the team?

Marshal Trahearne nods. "Thank you, Sieran. It seems we are all agreed."

_All agreed, but it took some work. I can't believe I decided to be a part of this. You shouldn't have to coax people into accepting responsibility - they'll just be bad at it._ Vriré had known Sieran for all of half a tick, and she already knows putting her in charge of anything is a bad idea.

After a moment of silence, Fiona asks, "so, what do we call this group?"

_Something morale-boosting_. Vriré knows what the Order finds inspiring, but this group will have to take into account the other Orders, as well.

"So… we're like the Screaming Falcons of the Seraph," Tiffany points out.

"Yeah…" Fiona says reluctantly, after a long moment of silence. "That makes sense…"

_Aand they're dealing with grief problems,_ Vriré sighs to herself. _And I thought I was busy before - what in the Eternal Alchemy prompted me to babysit a bunch of indecisive bookahs that think they can be inspiring?_

"Kid," Warmaster Forgal tells Tiffany gently, "not everyone here has even met Deborah."

"Yeah, alright," Tiffany says quietly. "I… I just - "

"We understand," the norn tells her quietly, darting a brief glare at Vriré as if to silence her.

_Well, at least I won't have to show them how to be partners_. Actually, Fiona is partnered with Sieran, Vriré knows both of the twins, and the two Warmasters are together, of course - hopefully they'll be able to get to know each other and work together… at least better than most any other team. The real challenge will be not getting too attached to them herself.

"We'll be the most powerful force the Pact has to offer," Warmaster Forgal notes, bringing the conversation back to naming their elite group. "We need something inspiring."

"Y-_we_ are this Pact's champions," Sieran agrees.

"Hey, that sounds neat," Fiona points out. "Pact Champions."

"So Zhaitan has champions and the Pact has champions," Tiffany agrees.

"It would be good for morale, as well," Vriré adds. _Somehow they managed to get that. And somehow it was the loopy sylvari that thought it up._

* * *

The separate Orders are not returning to their headquarters yet, even though it is several days since the Battle of Lion's Arch. Trahearne is still figuring out exactly what is going to happen with the Pact. Fiona and Tiffany hadn't returned to Divinity's Reach, both because, without the gates up yet - and the asura had insisted on retaking control of their waypoints - it would be at least a day of travel by foot, and Petra probably will be mad at them for sneaking off with the tetherstone.

As the twins are wandering around Lion's Arch, slightly bored - the Vigil aren't to set off to retake the Keep until later - Tiffany suddenly starts laughing her head off, to a confused look from Fiona. "I can't believe I didn't think of this earlier!" the ranger exclaims amid her own laughter. "The abbreviation of 'Pact Champion' is PC!"

Fiona blinks once, then joins Tiffany in her laughter. "That is hilarious," she decides. "It also means that Forgal, Sieran and Vriré are PCs, too."

"And that Trahearne is _better_ than a PC," Tiffany notes, with a smug smile. "I always knew that."

"You crazy," Fiona snorts, rolling her eyes.

Suddenly, Tangwen walks into Tiffany's line of sight. "Hey Tangwen!" she greets enthusiastically. When Tangwen doesn't reply, however, she frowns. "Tangwen?" she asks cautiously. "Fiona, is she an illusion?"

Fiona shakes her head. "They've always been illusions," she tells her sister. "They're real, but their images and voices are illusory."

Tiffany gapes at her sister. "And you didn't tell me?"

"It's just how they're projected in Tyria!" Fiona protests. "How do you think they just _poof_, vanish when they log off?"

Tiffany sighs. "I really, _really_ want to know who is behind this. The whole being in Tyria in the first place, in fact. I doubt Tyria needed help and snatched us out of thin air."

"The Dream?" Fiona suggests.

Suddenly, Tangwen stands up on tiptoe and waves at them, even though they're only a few feet apart.

"Tangwen?" Tiffany asks cautiously. "What's going on?"

Tangwen shrugs, then points behind them in an exaggerated motion.

Tiffany glances behind her to see Phillipe, Joslyn, and Falcon standing there.

"What are you doing over there?" she asks with a frown, not sure what is going on. Falcon promptly facepalms. Tiffany raises her eyebrows at the odd motion.

"Alright, what is going on?" Fiona asks, aggravated.

In identical motions, all four of the players shrug.

"Oh, come on!" Tiffany groans. "They're using emotes and slash commands. Can you not talk?" she asks.

After a brief pause, they all shake their heads and wave their fingers back and forth in a very exaggerated 'no' reply.

Fiona suddenly starts laughing, and Tiffany frowns at her. "Tiffany!" the mesmer gasps. "We're talking in Tyrian!"

Tiffany facepalms, and Fiona giggles. "Sorry," she says to the players in english. "We thought you were answering our questions and couldn't talk!"

After a longish pause, Phillipe's mouth starts moving, and he gestures with his hands, but Tiffany and Fiona can't hear him. Facing him, Joslyn emotes 'no.'

"Is that a slash 'talk' command?" Fiona guesses. Tangwen emotes 'yes.'

"So…" Tiffany glances between Joslyn, renewing her 'no' emote every time it runs out, and Phillipe, still talking soundlessly, "you _can't_ talk?"

Silence is all that comes from the players, which Tiffany takes to mean that she is right.

"Why don't you look up all the slash commands so we know how we can communicate?" Fiona suggests.

Joslyn emotes 'yes' quickly, and suddenly Tiffany's mouth drops open. "You can look things up!" she realizes. "You can look up everything and anything!"

Fiona grimaces. "Yeah, and they can't tell us what they find - emotes can't convey anything meaningful."

"We should have thought of this _ages_ ago," Tiffany groans. "Imagine how different things could've turned out?"

Joslyn starts going through the emotes. The only ones Tiffany and Fiona don't recognize is the one where she cowers away from them; crosses her arms; rests her chin on her hand and tilts her head as if thinking; slumps her shoulders and looks down with a frown; jumps back in clear surprise; acts grateful; and threatens them.

"So we haven't got much," Fiona notes sadly. "There is no way we're communicating effectively with that. I mean, we could play the hot-cold game, but…"

"Nothing important," Tiffany sighs, "and not efficiently." She sighs, rubbing her forehead. "Well, there goes communication. We already lost physical contact, and just in creating characters we lost physical appearance."

Phillipe emotes 'sad,' followed by Joslyn and Tangwen. Tiffany half-expects Falcon to dance, but he doesn't, instead emoting sadness like the rest of them.

Suddenly, Phillipe stands up, turns around, and threatens the empty space around them.

"Is slash 'angry' not an emote?" Tiffany guesses, and Joslyn agrees. "Angry at who? Nevermind, you can't answer that. Ugh."

"Prolly Anet," Fiona notes. "Or whoever sent us here. Tiff, Deborah's dead, we are at risk of dying, and we're stuck in a separate world from our parents." Frustrated, she kicks a loose stone in the still-damaged street.

"Right," Tiffany agrees. She sits on a nearby bench and puts her head in her hands. The players follow, some finding automatic seats on the bench, and some doing the sit emote in a semicircle facing said bench. "I thought this whole Tyria thing was gonna be fun, but… it's kinda not."

Falcon springs to his feet in the 'surprised' emote, then follows up with the 'cower' one. Even Fiona looks at Tiffany in surprise.

"I didn't say I didn't want to be here," Tiffany reminds them. "Just that it isn't as fun. Sure, we have everything we could need - an adoptive family, loyal friends, a worthy cause to fight for, even God himself - "

At this, the other players jump up surprised, and Joslyn makes a vehement 'no' at them, followed by the 'cry' emote. Only Phillipe doesn't move, presumably because he was too surprised to touch the keyboard.

"No, no, we're not - we didn't - no!" Tiffany protests. "It's not like that! Ugh, how can we explain this one," she asks Fiona. "They won't believe us unless they go in, and they're not - "

"If they need proof, God is on earth, too," Fiona reminds her. "He'll tell them if it's necessary."

Phillipe stands up and does the thinking emote. After a moment - during which the players are probably talking over TeamSpeak - Tangwen, Joslyn and Phillipe all do the 'agree' emote, which Falcon echoes a moment late.

"So you do understand?" Tiffany asks hopefully.

They all 'agree' again - 'agree' and 'yes' seem to be synonymous, at least in emoting - and Tiffany breathes a sigh of relief.

"Sorry if we scared you," Fiona apologizes. "That would have given me a fright if I was you."

Joslyn does the 'thanks' emote - as close to forgiveness as emoting gets - and everybody sits down again, except Phillipe, who points at them, then does the 'talk' emote, and points again.

"You want us to talk?" Tiffany guesses, and he nods. "About… about how God exists in Tyria?" Another nod. "Alright then. He's the sylvari Dream - you can look that up on the wiki, it'll be easier than explaining all the bits of lore that most of the players know."

Tiffany and Fiona wait while they look up the Dream, then Phillipe comes back with the thinking emote. After a moment, he gestures in the 'talk' emote again after pointing at them.

"Well, as is probably very obvious, the rules are a bit different in Tyria," Tiffany begins, a tad awkwardly, "but I've got this theory that we're in a parallel time to pre-Jesus, and that the sylvari are the Tyrian equivalent of Jews or Isrealites. Ventari's Tablet - another thing you can look up if you feel like it - is like the Ten Commandments."

Phillipe does the thinking emote again, then nods. Then, after a pause, he turns to Joslyn, who stands up, and they act out a scene.

"Well, that's an interesting way of communicating," Fiona notes slowly, as Phillipe threatens Joslyn, who does the 'surprised' emote followed by 'cower,' then straightens, shakes her finger at him, and does her own 'threaten' emote. Phillipe cowers, then goes to sleep.

Tiffany frowns at the last one. "Oh wait," she notes. "Sleeping is dying?" she checks, and Joslyn nods. "So, somebody threatens somebody else, the somebody is afraid for a bit, then gets aggressive themselves, and the first one dies?"

Joslyn nods. Fiona frowns. "That's… not very specific."

This time, Tangwen joins them, and the act is repeated, this time with Tangwen calling down balls of fire on Phillipe before he 'dies,' and Phillipe cowers away from her instead.

"Oh…kay?" Tiffany asks skeptically. "What does that mean?"

Joslyn and Falcon bow toward Tangwen.

"Yeah, okay, that narrowed it down a lot!" Fiona cheers. "Joslyn is a normal person, Tangwen is God, and Phillipe is… Satan? So who do you want to ask us about?"

Tangwen and Joslyn both point at Phillipe.

"Ah, well," Tiffany notes, "the Elder Dragons, of course." Phillipe shrugs at her, and Tiffany frowns. "More specific?" she guesses, and he nods. "Well… Mordremoth, obviously."

Joslyn thinks for a moment, then points at Tiffany, then shrugs.

"Is shrugging a replacement for a question mark?" Fiona asks. Joslyn shrugs, and Fiona giggles. "I guess it depends."

Joslyn points at Tiffany, then thinks, then shrugs.

"Uhh… can I think?" Tiffany guesses, and Joslyn shakes her head. "How far am I off the mark?" Tiffany asks. "Threaten me if I'm very wrong, cry if I'm _really_ wrong, and… if I'm closer to being right… laugh? Dance? I don't know."

"If she's in between, shrug," Fiona suggests.

Joslyn hesitates for a moment, then shrugs.

"I just mentioned Mordremoth, so… am I being taken over by - " Joslyn cuts her off by crying. "Alright, alright, not even close," Tiffany says quickly. "But it has to do with thinking - " Joslyn nods - "and me thinking. Did I think?" Joslyn laughs. "Well, closer than _can_ I think," Tiffany notes. "Did I think… I just mentioned Mordremoth being Satan, did I think… what didn't I think of?"

Joslyn threatens, and Tiffany sighs. "This is _so_ much harder than communicating with Beorn," she groans, to mock outrage from Beorn while Fiona snickers.

"So, Tiff," Fiona reminds her, "it's not that you didn't think of something, it's 'did you think.'" She turns to Joslyn. "Is 'did you think' more applicable to the beginning or the end of the sentence you have in mind?" Joslyn hesitates, and Fiona adds, "nod for beginning, no for end."

Joslyn quickly nods.

"Alright," Tiffany sighs, stretching a bit. "So how could 'did you think' end in a way that isn't 'did you think of X?'"

Falcon jumps, and Joslyn cheers. Falcon keeps jumping.

"Did you think of jumping?" Fiona asks, and Phillipe facepalms. "Okay, no, so that isn't it…"

Falcon stops jumping and looks upward. "He's looking up?" Tiffany guesses, and Joslyn nods. Falcon jumps again. "He's trying to get up?" Joslyn cheers.

Then Joslyn points at Tiffany, thinks for a moment, then jumps. "Did I think… jump…" Tiffany frowns.

"Up!" Fiona realizes suddenly. "Did you think _up_…"

"What were we talking about? Satan, Elder Dragons, Mordremoth?" Tiffany checks.

"Yep," Fiona confirms. "So, did you think up…" she looks at Joslyn who goes through the routine again, pointing at Tiffany at the end. "Did you think up Tiffany?" Joslyn shrugs.

"Did I think that up myself?" Tiffany guesses, and everyone else cheers while Joslyn nods. "Got it!" Tiffany exclaims happily. "That took _forever!_"

"_Did_ you think it up yourself?" Fiona asks. "About Mordremoth being Satan?"

"Yeah," Tiffany replies slowly, "but it fits everything. Oh, either Mordremoth or the Nightmare. It should be on the same wiki page as the Dream."

Joslyn nods, and Phillipe gestures for Tiffany to keep talking.

"Well, Mordremoth and the Nightmare both act like the Dream," Tiffany tells them. "Mordremoth tries to take over sylvari mentally, get them to do bad stuff… and since the sylvari are Mordremoth's creations… hang on, let me think a moment," she frowns. After a minute, she nods. "Yes, Mordremoth created the sylvari, the Dream came and made them sentient and gave them the ability to fight back against Mordremoth." She tilts her head at Phillipe and Joslyn in question. "Anything in that that very much a lot contradicts anything in the Bible? You know it better than I do."

"Except the bit about Mordremoth creating them," Fiona inserts. "We know that's not Biblical if Mordremoth is Satan."

"Well, obviously," Tiffany says, rolling her eyes. After a moment of silence, Tiffany facepalms. "Oh right, you can't talk. Yes or no answer, maybe we can - oh." The Dream is stirring in the back of her head. Tiffany isn't sure how, but she somehow just _knows_ that what she'd just been saying is wrong. "That's all wrong," she tells them. "The Dream says so."

Joslyn jumps in surprise, as do the others after a moment.

"Oh, uh, yeah, we have a much more…" Tiffany pauses, searching for the right word. "A much more intimate relationship with God in Tyria. The Dream is kind of nestled in the back of our minds, a lot more tangible and always there than I ever experienced on earth."

Joslyn cheers, obviously happy for them. Phillipe goes through the emotes to tell them to keep talking.

Tiffany frowns. "I'm not entirely sure what _is_ right, though… it's kind of vague. Wait what?" Tiffany frowns in confusion. "_Everything_ is Satan? How can _everything_ be Satan? That makes no sense!"

"Well," Fiona notes, seeming slightly uncomfortable. "There's magic."

"Oh," Tiffany grimaces. "Of course. But the Dream doesn't seem to be anti-magic at all - I mean, Trahearne's a necromancer, for crying out loud." Tiffany feels as if she's on the right track, and the Dream will tell her if she's wrong, so she goes on. "Maybe magic itself isn't bad, but… no, that's irrelevant. Hmm. Everything is Satan… but how…"

"Well," Fiona points out, "for one thing, everything being Satan can't be true at all. The Dream has shown very little enmity toward anything but Elder Dragons and corruption. How exactly does the Dream communicate with you?"

"Well it's like communicating with Beorn," Tiffany explains, and Fiona grimaces. Raising a questioning eyebrow at her sister's reaction, Tiffany continues, "only more defined, I guess. The Dream gave me the feeling that Satan was… _in_ everything, I guess. His being and essence are everywhere. Kinda like… oohh… huh." After a moment of thought, Tiffany continues, "kinda like God on earth. Maybe… wow. Yowch, that's scary." Tiffany shudders. "Satan created Tyria," she grimaces. "And God… the Dream… is taking it over?"

Fiona laughs nervously. "So it's like in reverse of earth? And the Dream is going to win?"

"Yeah," Tiffany nods. "Something like that. Right now everything is how Satan designed it, and the Dream is going through Tyria and making it right. It's still going to keep it's unique flavor - it won't turn into a replica of earth or anything, it'll still be _Tyria_ \- but it'll function more realistically." At encouragement from the Dream she opens her mouth to continue brainstorming, but comes up dry. "Like what?" she asks nobody. "That kind of makes no sense."

Phillipe waves to get their attention, then everybody bows at Tangwen again. Tangwen points at random places and then stands on tiptoe and reaches for the sky, before snapping suddenly back into standing position.

"Was that the beginning of the dance animation?" Fiona asks interestedly. "Neat idea. So, Tangwen is God, and the places she pointed at are…" Tangwen thumps her fist on chest. "They're yours? Or God's?" Fiona checks, and Joslyn nods. "Alright…"

Tangwen thinks, shrugs, everyone bows at her and she points before doing the beginning of the dance emote again.

"Think, shrug… question?" Tiffany guesses. "What is God's? Well, the Nightmare is, surprisingly, and Mordremoth isn't. That's… yeah. Kinda weird, I guess. The sylvari are, and so is most everything connected with them. Ventari's Tablet, and the Pale Tree, where they came from… hey, that's not right. The sylvari come from Mordremoth, but - oh, that's something the Dream is going to change. We're going to kill Mordremoth and the Nightmare will replace it as a source of evil? Yeah, that's right. Hey, that's kinda cool!" Tiffany laughs.

"You know," Fiona points out, "you're kinda having a conversation with yourself here. We're just watching the show."

"Hey," Tiffany says with fake pout. "You're the only other person here who can actually talk. I'm bouncing ideas off of you. You have the Dream too, you know." Taking a moment to remember where she'd left off, she half-asks, "so the Dream's current plan is to defeat all the Elder Dragons and replace them with… what?"

"Well, Mordremoth is gonna be replaced by the Nightmare," Fiona reminds her. "And haven't you made the comparison before from Mordremoth to Satan? Mordremoth is the master of temptation right now - literally forcing your free will - but the Dream wants the Nightmare. What's the difference?"

Tiffany frowns. "The difference is that Mordremoth is too powerful, I guess. The creator-savior thing is messed up. If Mordremoth goes poof, the sylvari owe their sentience to the Dream, and that's as good or even better than being creator. Certainly the best thing even before Mordremoth dies - the Dream and the Pale Tree, which are linked somehow."

Joslyn goes through her 'did you think that up' set of emotes, and Tiffany shrugs. "Kind of, but the Dream is confirming it all. I'm kind of just spewing out whatever comes to mind. Just like normal, you know, when I'm thinking up an idea. It comes out as a question because I'm not sure, but I'll tell you if the Dream counters it. This is kind of cool, to be honest."

Agreement goes around the circle, and Tangwen gestures for Tiffany to continue. Instead, the ranger frowns at Fiona. "Do you have anything, Fiona?" she asks. "You're not saying anything."

Fiona shrugs. "You seem to have it handled, and I haven't established the flow of thought that you have. Don't let me interrupt you."

"Okay," Tiffany shrugs. "So, where was I?"

"The Dream and the Pale Tree being linked and being the creator after Mordremoth dies," Fiona prompts.

"Oh, right," Tiffany nods. "So we were wondering what the other Elder Dragons are and what they'll be replaced with? Well, Zhaitan's domain is death, so if that's related… maybe the Dream is going to fix the afterlife system so everybody gets the same thing? Instead of the humans doing whatever with Grenth - and yes, I cursed the human afterlife - and the norn doing their Spirits of the Wild thing and the charr and asura doing who knows what, it'll all be the same. And the Dream is setting convenient milestones like Zhaitan's death to do it with, so it makes sense to all the people who don't get it."

"It should be easy enough to take away Grenth's power or whatever the Spirits do, without killing them," Fiona observes. "Wouldn't it be easier to do the same with Zhaitan?"

"Well…" Tiffany frowns. "I get the idea that the Elder Dragons are kinda evil?" She giggles. "That sounded funny. But yeah - they're like Satan's champions or something. I don't know _how_ I'm not getting Satan and Zhaitan mixed up already, by the way. Or maybe, since Grenth isn't even in Tyria anymore and the Spirits are… well, spirits, the Tyrians need a very obvious and related death - Zhaitan - to tie into why _dying_ is so different now. I think it's a mix of both."

"Neat," Fiona notes. "But what about the other dragons? What do ice and fire and crystal have to do with… dying and redemption and all that sort of thing?"

"I don't know," Tiffany shrugs. "I could prolly figure it out if I thought about it though, so - " Fiona interrupts her sister by rolling her eyes. Tiffany sighs. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. So… Jormag is ice, it drove the norn out of their homeland… " Tiffany frowns. She doesn't have the slightest clue how that is related. "I get the feeling it's irrelevant for right now. We all get the idea of what the Dream is trying to do, I guess. So now we have a spiritual reason for fighting Zhaitan, yay!" Tiffany cheers.

Fiona rolls her eyes. "Alright then. How did we get in to talking about all this stuff?" she asks. "The Dream, Satan, the origin of the world…"

"Uhh," Tiffany notes, thinking back. "Wow, it's a lot harder retracing a conversation when one half of it can't talk," she observes.

Joslyn shrugs.

"It doesn't matter?" Tiffany guesses. "Alright. I really wish we could communicate more easily," she notes sadly. She really is losing her family. "Why is this happening?" she asks of nobody in particular. "First the language barrier, then the time difference, and now you can't talk at all. What's next?"

"I don't know," Fiona says sadly while the others all shrug. "I'm just glad we remembered to talk in english the whole conversation. We normally bounce in and out all the time."

"Well, the Dream wasn't about to get a silly little thing like language get in the way of figuring stuff out," Tiffany reasons.

* * *

Forgal finds Tiffany and Fiona near the destroyed fountain in the Lion's Court, but they are talking to two humans and two sylvari that he doesn't recognize. "Tiffany? Fiona? Who are these people?" Forgal asks.

"Ooh, these are our other-world family!" Tiffany says excitedly. "Mom, Dad," she says, gesturing to each of them in turn, "this is Forgal. You haven't met him yet, I think. Forgal, these are my parents - Phillipe and Joslyn, and that's Falcon, and she's Tangwen."

Forgal glances at them with interest, but before he can say anything, the person Tiffany had identified as her father points at him angrily and waves his fist at him. Forgal frowns in confusion.

"What was that for?" Tiffany protests. Phillipe continues making threatening motions in Forgal's direction with Falcon nodding seriously off to the side. Joslyn, with an inscrutable expression, points at Forgal, then Tiffany.

Forgal glances at the sisters for help - he doesn't know what's going on. What's wrong with them - why aren't they talking?

"Ohh, this is about when Forgal attacked you," Fiona speaks up.

"Oh! _Dad_, I told you, Forgal's alright," Tiffany says exasperatedly, drawing a weak smile from the norn. Why are they reacting to the motions as if the silent people are talking? He can tell that some sort of conversation is going on, but…

"Actually, we haven't talked about it since the day after," Fiona replies.

"Yeah, and? That's the time I was thinking of," Tiffany points out.

"I still can't believe you trusted me that much after I nearly killed you," Forgal points out with a smile. He is incredibly lucky to be able to claim them as friends.

"Yes," Tiffany grumbles. "See, we're back to being friends now, Dad, you don't have to be all angry on my behalf."

Phillipe crosses his arms stubbornly. Falcon and Tangwen facepalm in the background.

"I sincerely apologize for attacking your daughter," Forgal tells Phillipe rather awkwardly, not knowing how to talk to a silent spectre. He glances at Tiffany regretfully. He'd never been able to forgive himself for nearly killing her, even though she doesn't seem to mind.

"Hey!" Tiffany yelps. "You were triggered by past trauma and thought I'd betrayed your friendship!"

"That is still no way to treat allies," Forgal reminds her quietly.

Phillipe just continues glaring.

"Okay, why isn't he talking?" Forgal asks finally.

"It's the world-dimension barrier-thing," Tiffany says helpfully. "They used to be able to talk, but they can't anymore, so they have to use physical motions that are, sadly enough, super limited."

"In any case, I would have thought all worlds understood the concept of apology," Forgal points out.

"Oh _come on!_" Tiffany cries in frustration. "You're - the language barrier! They don't speak Tyrian."

Fiona speaks up in some gibberish language that Forgal can't understand, presumably addressed to her parents.

"He didn't just 'say sorry,'" Tiffany says indignantly. "He was very nice and sad about it, and it's a shame that Dad won't ever be able to hear it properly, or else I think he would stop being angry."

"I don't expect he'll ever stop being angry," Forgal points out. "Not toward the person who almost killed his daughter. I know how I'd react if someone had tried to kill one of mine. I deserve it, anyway. I shouldn't have overreacted like that."

"Oh," Tiffany says quietly. "Did I ever say sorry for triggering you like that?"

Forgal pauses. "…maybe? It doesn't matter, though."

"And see, that's what I say about _your_ apology," Tiffany points out.

"Guys, I think we should save this for another time," Fiona points out. "We're trying to get Dad to understand that Forgal's not a bad guy." Turning to Phillipe, she speaks in the unknown language again.

Joslyn nods, but crosses her arms.

Tiffany sighs and launches on a longer explanation.

"Oh, Forgal, Tiffany's calling you a victim," Fiona observes.

"Hey!" Forgal points out in mock outrage. "I have a stern-warrior reputation to protect! You can't just go talking about my emotional vulnerability to people I can't even carry on a conversation with!"

"Sure, Forgal," Tiffany says with a grin. "They'll go on all the game-discussion forums and shout FORGAL ISN'T ACTUALLY A STERN WARRIOR, ANET IS LYING TO YOU! And nobody will believe them."

"Or they'll ask for details, which Dad doesn't have, and _then_ they won't believe him," Fiona points out. "But who goes on the forums, anyway? The only reason they care about the game is because we're in it. Forums are for the fanatics. Also, I think Dad is wondering what you were shouting about."

Tiffany turns and speaks some admonishing-sounding words to Phillipe. She turns to Forgal. "There, now they won't go telling everybody."

Forgal frowns at her. There is a _reason_ he doesn't act gruff and demanding toward the sisters anymore. His relationship to them is the exception, not the rule.

Fiona talks some more in their other language, and after a moment, Phillipe nods.

Tiffany inserts a few words, and Phillipe nods again. Tiffany adds something in a cheerful tone, then turns to Forgal. "Forgal, he accepts your apology. He can't say anything else, but I assume he wants to duel you to the death if it ever happens again. I _would_ say I wouldn't let him kill you, but if that happens you'll probably be a Risen or something anyway. Also it's probably impossible for him to fight you anyway. Plus you could probably beat him."

"Will _you_ be capable of fighting back if I'm a Risen?" Forgal asks in concern, recalling how she'd been unable to fight back.

"Oh yes, don't worry about that," Tiffany reassures him. "It's only the _non-_corrupted friends I can't fight."

Suddenly, Joslyn leaps in the air in surprise, then points to Forgal and then at Falcon, Tangwen, and Phillipe.

"Huh?" Fiona wonders.

Tiffany mimicks Joslyn's movements - although in a less exaggerated manner - pointing at Forgal, then her family… "oh! She's asking about how he knows they're from another world." She explains it - presumably - in english, and Falcon acts surprised as well, in an identical motion. Joslyn moves as if to speak, but she doesn't actually say anything. Then she shrugs in an exaggerated motion.

Tiffany frowns for a moment, then offers a hopeful-sounding answer.

"We trust him, you guess?" Fiona repeats in Tyrian. She grins at the norn, but her smile seems just a bit forced. "I guess we do."

"I would have to be surprised by how well you are communicating," Forgal comments, "except that it seems similar to the companion bond." He still isn't so sure about Phillipe accepting his apology, but that is likely because they are unable to interact directly.

"Hm, true," Tiffany agrees. "It was super confusing at first, but now it's much easier. I guess it kind of is."

"Well, I initially came over to tell you that we'll be leaving for the Keep in one tick," Forgal tells her. "I have to go help General Almorra with a few things, but you should be able to finish talking to your family first."

"Alright. Thanks, Forgal."

As he leaves the small family behind, Forgal wonders about Fiona's seemingly carefree attitude. He suspects - although he can't be sure - that she blames him for her sister's death. With the knowledge that he would have been the one to die in the alternate future, Forgal can't begrudge her that belief. But it hurts, that one of his friends would hold such a view.

Forgal's usual gruff and stern demeanor is more than a defense mechanism based on Asvor's treatment, or even just a perceived divide between him and everyone else - it had become an issue of respect. He highly respects Tiffany and Fiona and feels lucky to count them his friends - trusts them enough to open up to them. His equals, if not his betters.

The recruit who had saluted him so long ago had been an inexperienced young woman. He had respected her then for her courage and stubborn perseverance, even in the face of his begrudging acceptance of the assignment to train her. Now, he admires the Warmaster she had grown into, competent and level-headed, with an undue amount of responsibility thrust upon her by her future knowledge and the death of her sister.

Forgal had been humbled by Tiffany's experience with and reaction to the problem of Asvor. She'd gone on trusting in Forgal's good will, even after he'd almost killed her. She'd rooted out the problem of Asvor and tried to help him, while he was standing in blind, stubborn obstruction the whole way.

Forgal should be the one following _her_ into battle, not the other way around.

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

Chapter one, delivered! Boom! Eee! I'm running around in circles right now. Mostly because I didn't have an oversized chapter, for once, but also mostly (wait, how's that possible?) because my awesome plot is starting! Eee!

I have this whole book planned out, and it is going to be the best! Aiee!

Also, this book is going to mostly from Fiona's perspective - mostly from Fiona's, as the other books were mostly from Tiffany's. Don't worry, I'll make certain the other main characters get their screen-time!

Also, yes, I am BACK TO POSTING! A chapter will go up once a week, like clockwork, for at least seventeen weeks. Because I already have all those bits written! (And I'll write the last few chapters by then, but I hate making arbitrary deadlines. You can tell by the fact that I am nearly a year late from the last due date I gave you… ouch… sorry about that, by the way.)


	3. Chapter 2: Trust the Dream

THE UNBROKE

* * *

Summary: The earth players try to communicate further, wanting to talk to Tiffany about Deborah, but it's just not the same. Fiona is still struggling with the Dream about her Wyld Hunt - and other issues - all while feeling Tiffany's grief through the Dream. When the players finally leave, Tiffany realizes that they're gone permanently - they're in different worlds, different systems, she might never be able to talk to them again. Fiona, finally understanding Tiffany's dilemma, tries to comfort her, and in the process comes to understand the true meaning of her Hunt... and it's terrifying. Malena comes to talk about Braham while the tetherstone causes more trouble

* * *

Chapter two: Trust the Dream

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

Alright! EEE! We're moving in on this! _The Unbroken_ has BEGUN! So - since I didn't have room to say it in the last chapter - _surprise!_ This book - _The Unbroken_ \- has been completed (at least mostly) and is in the process of being posted. I can't wait to hear what you guys think! Leave a review (or join the Tassof Friends Discord server for more involved discussion) and tell me what you think! (And talk fantheories! There are at least two obsessive readers of the _Tassof Series_ on Tassof Friends, so join in!)

I think I've forgotten how to write author's notes. Ouch. That's probably a byproduct of having written most of the chapters in advance. Oh well.

_**Okay, here's the story now:**_

* * *

As Forgal leaves and Fiona updates the players in english, Tiffany realizes that, no matter how much she might miss her family, she is a part of Tyria now. She wouldn't leave it if she could.

Tangwen suddenly goes to sleep, and the other players cluster around her and emote 'sad.'

"You want me to talk about Deborah," Tiffany says flatly, sighing. _Really? They want to talk about Deborah through __emoting__?_ "What about her? She's dead. She's gone. You can't just tell me to talk. That's not how it works." _That's never how it's worked_.

Phillipe gestures for her to talk, and Tiffany throws her hands up in the air.

"What did I just say," she groans. She gets up from her seat and begins pacing. "I can't just _talk_. Give me something to start with! But no, you can't talk, so we're going to try to do this through _emotes_. Great. Just great." Tiffany huffs.

Phillipe shrugs and emotes 'sad,' then points at Tangwen.

"I think they want to know how you're _feeling_," Fiona says slowly. "Maybe they need to know what your relationship was with her."

Tiffany pauses, facing away from them.

Joslyn shrugs, then 'talks' at Phillipe, who talks back, and Falcon, who does the same. Tangwen gets up and joins them, and Joslyn cheers. Phillipe walks away a few steps and Falcon shrugs. Tangwen 'goes to sleep' again, and Joslyn cries, Falcon is sad, and Phillipe has no reaction.

"So… like… you all had a different relationship with her?" Fiona guesses, and Joslyn laughs.

"That's close," Fiona muses to herself. Joslyn shrugs, emotes 'talk' in Tiffany's direction, then in Tangwen's direction.

"What was Tiffany's relationship with Deborah?"

Tiffany clenches a fist at her side, swallowing a lump in her throat. She doesn't turn around. _They can't possibly understand_.

Falcon points at Tangwen and shrugs. He talks to her. He lets the emote run for five seconds and then walks away.

Joslyn points at Fiona, then Phillipe, and Phillipe talks to Tangwen, letting the emote run on without interruption. Falcon points at Tiffany, then Joslyn, and Joslyn does the same.

"Wait, so, Dad is me, Mom is Tiffany, Falcon is… you guys? Right, because Deborah only shows up in like one mission, you couldn't get to know her if you wanted to," Fiona realizes. "Whereas we have been knowing her for twenty-some years."

* * *

Tangwen can feel Tiffany hurting… she just doesn't know how to help. She doesn't know if she _could_ help, even if she did know.

"She doesn't have anybody to help her," she hears Phillipe say quietly. "She's… alone."

"There's nothing we can do about it," Joslyn replies. "We… we'll just have to do our best."

They're all playing scrolled in, to better see Tiffany and Fiona, but even that only helps so much.

Fiona continues talking to Tiffany, the words appearing over her head as if she really is an NPC. For all that Tangwen and the rest can interact with them, they might as well be.

Tiffany whirls around suddenly. "You want to know who Deborah was to me?" she asks, and Tangwen's eyes widen as she hears the mix of anger, determination, and grief in her friend's voice. She would not be surprised to see tears in Tiffany's eyes, if only she could be there in person to see it. "You want to know? Really?" Tiffany demands, drawing a shaky breath. "She was my older sister. She was the person I looked up to in everything, the person I yearned to learn from, the one whose praise meant everything to me. In your language? In your language, she was _Tangwen._"

Tangwen inhales sharply in shock. "Tiffany…" she breathes. The person Tiffany had just described, dead, gone. The person Tiffany had related to as Tangwen, dead. The very fact that Tiffany had tried to find a Tangwen in Tyria shows the desperation Tiffany must have felt, shows how much she values their relationship. The fact that circumstances had been such that Tangwen couldn't be there, that Tiffany had needed to do so in the first place, is heartbreaking. The fact that this person is dead, and Tangwen can't be there to help her friend… _that_ is _devastating_.

"Oh, Tiffany," Joslyn murmurs softly.

"She's desperate," Tangwen whispers. "She's trying to… to replicate her relationships in Tyria." _Why can't we be there for her?_ She reaches out and types /sad, then pauses. The exaggerated, fake expressions on her character's face might be worse than nothing. She erases the message with a sigh.

"There's… there's nothing we can do," Phillipe says, sounding lost. "She's stuck there, surrounded by evil and dragons and Satan…

"We can pray," Joslyn reminds him.

Phillipe sighs. "I… should be there," he whispers. "I should be able to help her through this."

* * *

"And she…" Tiffany continues shakily, in the deathly silence following her outburst. "She didn't have the Dream."

Fiona gasps - _has she not realized this already?_ Tiffany wonders bitterly - and Tiffany turns away, biting her lip. Her _sister_… Deborah… is dead forever because she didn't have the Dream.

She didn't have the Dream because she was created by Satan, because she happened not to have been born a sylvari. She was a _sinner_, condemned from the start.

"That doesn't make her any less of a person," she snaps out loud, tears coming to her eyes. She almost immediately feels sorry for it. The Dream knows Deborah was a person. The Dream isn't any happier about Deborah's death than Tiffany is.

That doesn't make it any less bitter.

Deborah is _dead_ \- and Tiffany's family can't even speak to her. She needs them. She isn't exactly sure why, or how her family being physically present could help her, but she needs them.

Mom, Dad, Tangwen, Falcon… they aren't really here. She knows they can see what is happening and kind-of interact, but… it feels fake. It _is_ fake. While Tiffany knows intellectually that they are her family and are still there for her, emotionally they are distant and cold and vague, and she can't bring herself to confide in them more than she already has.

They can't help anyway - they can _listen_, and normally that would be enough, but… but Tiffany needs their presence. Their comfort.

* * *

There is simply nothing that the players can do - much less say - to help Fiona or Tiffany. Fiona wouldn't normally mind - she can deal with her sister dying on her own, and her earth family didn't even know Deborah - but for some reason, today, 'normally' doesn't apply.

Fiona looks at Tiffany, who is distraught and unable to speak her true feelings to the only people who have the slightest clue how to help, because it's all fake. Fiona sighs. _I never really wanted to come to Tyria to begin with. I don't want to stay. I'd go back home if I could… maybe._

For Fiona, Tyria had been full of high highs and low lows. When she was separated from Tiffany while in Sorrow's Embrace, she'd been terrified that she'd mess something up - Tiffany had this plan all worked out for how to get Destiny's Edge back together and make sure the Pact happened, and Fiona didn't know how this stuff all worked. At the same time, being apart had… freed her, in a sense. Fiona is a natural leader, but ever since she'd come to Tyria she'd deferred to Tiffany.

Fiona still doesn't know what to think of her conflicting feelings regarding not being around Tiffany 24/7. Especially since the Dream stepped in and started mixing their emotions together, which makes Fiona want to flee her sister's presence - another contradiction.

Fiona had had a lot of conflicting feelings about Tyria and the things in it, and her behavior had reflected this. The only reason she wouldn't go back to earth is because of Tiffany - and yet it was Deborah, not Tiffany, that Fiona trusted and shared her secrets with. Fiona had deferred to Tiffany's judgment not to tell Deborah about their future knowledge, but then she went and told Ogden - partly because she felt guilty for not telling Deborah - without even asking Tiffany. Fiona had been happy that Tiffany had Beorn to discuss her emotions with, rather than babbling on about such things to Fiona - and yet, for this very reason, Fiona resents the bear for being Tiffany's constant companion, for replacing Fiona herself. Fiona resents her Wyld Hunt because it defines her as 'helps her sister succeed' and nothing more - but hadn't she been doing that already, on her own?

_Why does everything have to be so complicated?_

And now, Fiona is sad about Deborah's death - misses her sharply, in fact - but she isn't about to let it rule her life. Deborah's dead - there's nothing for it - let's move on and - _I don't know, honor her memory by beating up Zhaitan… or something like that._ Everything is just too complicated.

And in the moment - in the moment, Fiona just wants to move on, do the next thing for the Pact - _why, again? oh yes, because Tiffany is the only reason I care about Tyria_ \- and stop getting all emotional about things beyond her control. But at the same time - another polar opposite, another contradiction, another _complication_ \- she is realizing what Tiffany is feeling - that she'll never be able to go to her family for aid again, never be able to talk out her confusion with Mom, because Mom would never understand even if they _could_ talk face-to-face.

And it still doesn't affect Fiona a whole lot - she doesn't need to talk about it. She can deal with it, she doesn't need the emotional support that Tiffany does… so what is this emotion in her? Why are her shoulders slumping, why is she sighing in regret, why does her heart feel heavy? The sadness is distant - it couldn't drown out the rest of her life even if she let it - and yet that seems to be what is happening to Tiffany.

Fiona doesn't know what to do about this. Deborah is dead, her family can't communicate properly, nobody can possibly understand her relationship to Deborah - everything's all a mess. And Fiona can't do anything about it. She can just watch everything spiral out of control, because she doesn't know anything. Tiffany's the one who knows the future. Fiona doesn't know what to do, even if she did know the future.

Fiona blinks, shakes her head, and glances at Tiffany - she's sitting on the bench, shoulders slumped, staring at the ground in dejected disappointment - Fiona can tell she's holding back tears. Fiona glances away as tears prick at her own eyes. She blinks at the ground, unsure of herself. She takes a deep, steadying breath. _Why? I'm not upset - I'm not the one struggling to survive emotionally in all this turmoil._

Fiona glances at the apparitions of her earth family. She can feel the Aspect of Deception radiating from them, and knows that nothing prevents her from walking through them. Nothing prevents her from trying to dispell their images, erase that mocking memory of her parents, mute and unable to express emotion. _That_ kindles emotion in her - why had the Dream allowed this to happen to them? Fiona could give them voices, if she wanted, but they would be based on her own perceptions, and wouldn't be able to say anything that Fiona couldn't think up.

Fiona puts a hand to her head - where are these thoughts coming from? Why is she sad… depressed, even? She glances at Tiffany, who is whispering a word to Beorn, biting her lip, tensing her muscles to prevent from giving away her emotional distress - normally it wouldn't work, but everyone besides Fiona herself is staring at a computer screen, a possibly unfaithful rendering of their true state.

Why does Fiona even care? She'd never cared. She doesn't need to care - Tiffany has Beorn. And yet, Fiona is still blinking back tears, grieving for the loss of her family and sister as much as Tiffany.

As much as Tiffany… Fiona wants to bang her head on the ground. Her connection through the Dream to Tiffany. Fiona had never cursed her ability to read her sister's emotions more than now.

Tears - real tears, now - of frustration threaten to come. She's leashed to her sister through this demeaning Wyld Hunt of hers, and now even their emotions are in sync. She rises from her seat and stalks away a few feet, breathing deeply and trying to calm herself, hoping that the others think she's just grieving. _Or is that desire something that her emotions prompted in me?_ Fiona can't tell anymore.

But it is true that she hadn't actually told Tiffany what her Wyld Hunt is. 'The same as yours,' she'd told her sister with a smile, claiming she 'just knew,' that the Dream had told her or something. Tiffany doesn't know the struggle Fiona is having. Fiona doesn't want her to, because then she, Fiona, would be pitied - or maybe Tiffany would frown in disbelief, deny that this made any difference, and carry on as normal.

But… Fiona also can't find it in her to blame Tiffany any more for Deborah's death. Tiffany is obviously much more torn up about it than Fiona is, and it's not like she _tried_ to kill her. _Not that Tiffany would be capable of that._

Fiona takes another deep breath. She is calm, now - at least as regards Tiffany's emotions - but she doesn't turn around and rejoin the conversation. She can't help - she doesn't know how. What does one say to a person who is having severe emotional problems?

_You gave me a Wyld Hunt, and I don't know how,_ Fiona thinks at the Dream - the equivalent of pointing an accusing finger. _What am I supposed to do, put my arm around her and say 'there, there, it's alright' - that might work on little kids, even awkwardly, but - _

But Tiffany would appreciate it. Fiona knows she would - Tiffany would be touched at the gesture, coming from such an unemotional stone as Fiona, made all the more so by the very fact of its awkwardness. Tiffany would never know that Fiona was only doing it because she had to, because she was forced to by this abominable Hunt - it would all be a lie, and Fiona won't do that to her sister. Won't make her feel loved and cared for when Fiona would be resenting every word and every gesture. _I won't do it,_ she snarls mentally at the Dream, _not until I can mean it._

And so she huffs aloud and ignores the warning in her mind that she _should_ \- Tiffany needs this, and Fiona is being petty and selfish, herself, if she doesn't actually want to - trying to figure out which thoughts are her own and which are inspired by the guilt - technically still hers - and which are the Dream trying to talk to her. Fiona loses herself in the logic and the trying to figure it out, though she doesn't really care, because it drowns out the feeling.

Because she won't be fake to her sister. Fiona is a mesmer, and she plays with being fake every day, she enjoys it - but Fiona can't do that to Tiffany.

* * *

As Tiffany's family disappear with not so much as the normal puff of blue, sadness runs through her like a wave. "They're gone," she says sadly. "If we ever see them again, it'll be even more useless."

"I wish we could go home," Fiona agrees. "I miss them."

"I do too," Tiffany sighs, "but Tyria needs us. Tyria is our home now."

Fiona remains silent, but all Tiffany can think about is her family. Gone, all gone. Gone like Deborah. Beorn sends sympathy. She'd never felt sympathy from him before - it was always empathy, or comfort, or reassurance. Beorn knows he cannot possibly understand Tiffany's relationship with her family. She can't explain it, and although he can get a good idea from her feelings, it'll never be the same. Only Fiona can understand this.

Tiffany turns away from the scene of their conversation with an inexpressible sadness hanging over her. Her family had been her society all through her childhood. She had rarely left home for social events, and her best friends had been her family and Tangwen, and only a few others. Mom and Dad had always been there for her, supportive and caring. She had known Tangwen since Tiffany herself and been an infant. Maybe Tangwen remembers a time when Tiffany wasn't around, but Tiffany can't imagine earth without Tangwen.

Falcon had been her annoying little brother - had been being the key phrase - but she misses him even so. They'd made a game out of 'singing' the 'lyrics' to a song that had no lyrics, they'd had a 'secret code' that consisted of differently-toned humming. Not anything as elaborate as Shilgni, but… they'd had their moments. Harrison had made her laugh more times than she can count, and Nate had been shaping up to be a quiet, reader type, same as Tiffany herself before she came to Tyria. Eden had been the only member of their family to be interested in playing dress-up, always putting things in her hair and being pretty. Vinn and Tiffany had had a game of figuring out where their 'funny' - the bit of a person that makes them funny - is located. Vinn had always said 'outside' or 'in the road' while Tiffany insisted that it was just under his jaw. And Laura… she was Fiona reincarnate, causing trouble and mayhem everywhere and being too cute to be angry about it.

And now they're all as good as dead. And she doesn't have anything to remember them by. She has Deborah's dagger on a leather cord around her neck - in its sheath, of course - but her earth family… nothing. Only memories. Nothing in Tyria will remind her of them, nothing will trigger her memories about them. She never thinks about them except when she needs their advice or something. She _has_ friends in Tyria. She has parents, siblings - _a_ sibling - she has Beorn, she has Mat and Ayla… her family is as good as replaced on a role level. She has little kids to play with, had an older sister, has parents, has friends, even has Fiona… but she can't replace Mom and Dad. Nobody can be as crazy as Falcon, nobody as serious and yet playful as Tangwen.

She'll never be able to ask Mom her serious questions concerning the Bible and Christianity; she'll never be able to play with Dad, never get 'Daddy taxed.' She'll never visit the Big Brown Bear with Tangwen - even her earth life had been full of bears! - or have a scavenger hunt. She'll never make pancakes with Eden again or help Harrison build with LEGOs. Vinn will never ask to put music on the speakers to dance to, and Laura will never come snuggle with Tiffany at night when she is scared. Nate will never pretend to be a lion and chase around the younger ones, and she'll never be able to bewilder Falcon with Shilgni.

She'll never build a wig-wam in the woods with Tangwen and the others, never pretend to be hunters, never go exploring. She'll never take a walk or show Nate how to play in mud puddles properly.

Nothing she does will ever remind her of her family - nothing ever. She'll never get the urge to tell one of them about one of her Tyrian experiences - she'll always tell Fiona, or Forgal, or some other Tyrian. The most she'll be able to say to her earth family is 'I thought of you today.' She can't even tell anybody except Forgal about her earth family - nobody else knows of their true origin.

She almost does want to return to earth, go back to normal. But… even if she could, what semblance of 'normal' existed in her life prior to Tyria will never be the same. It just couldn't be. And… if she did go back… Beorn might not be able to come with her. No matter what, Tiffany can't leave Beorn.

And… she's been separated from her family for so long that realizing that she will never see them again is… not actually that terrible. That fact in and of itself almost makes Tiffany cry. She'll never see them again, but they've essentially been replaced. There will always be spaces that nobody else can fill - nobody she knows is as supportive as her parents, nobody can be as firm as Tangwen in her beliefs.

They're dead. Tiffany suddenly realizes, with a pang of horror, that when they do die - for real, in earth, whenever that happens - and when she dies - to an Elder Dragon, most likely - they won't necessarily reunite.

They're in different worlds, with different systems - her family and Tangwen might go to heaven, but Tiffany won't. Tiffany's spirit will probably do something along the lines of living in the Dream.

A lump rises in Tiffany's throat as she realizes that she'll never speak to her family again. Ever. The concept of 'never' hadn't meant anything to Tiffany before; it had normally been applied to death, on earth, but that hadn't _actually_ been never, since most of the people she knows - knew - were going to go to heaven, and she was going to as well.

But now… now it truly is never. Tiffany tries to imagine it, and fails terribly.

It's like Deborah all over again. Deborah didn't have the Dream; Deborah is dead forever. Her family is only better off because they still go to heaven, even if Tiffany won't be there with them.

But they're dead to Tiffany. Beorn sends understanding and comfort through the bond, but… for the first time, Tiffany pushes him away, retreating slightly from the connection between their minds. He can't possibly understand this.

"Fiona, they're… they're dead."

"They what? No they're not."

"But when they do… when they do die, they'll go to heaven," Tiffany says, her voice breaking a bit. "And we'll go live in the Dream or something."

The sharp intake of breath from behind her signals that Fiona gets it. "Oh…"

"We'll… we'll never speak to them again," Tiffany whispers, drawing in a ragged breath. "Why?" she demands. "Why would this happen?"

"Why does bad stuff normally happen?" Fiona asks pragmatically.

"'Cause Satan does bad stuff and God lets it happen, because testing and trials," Tiffany mutters. "That doesn't help. We'll still never speak to them again, even if they can be here to listen. They might not be able to come back at all any more. Our family, Fiona, and we can't speak to them!"

"I… oh, Tiffany," Fiona moans in despair, sighing regretfully.

Tiffany sinks back down on the bench and puts her head in her hands. _I won't cry,_ she tells herself. _Not here, not now._ She tries to blink back the tears, but she can't stop thinking about her family and Tangwen. Not to mention all those who _hadn't_ routinely logged on to see her and Fiona - grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, other friends - that they hadn't spoken to in nearly half a year. She'll never see any of them again. _Never._

Fiona puts a hand on her shoulder in concern, and Tiffany suddenly realizes that she is shaking, silent tears coursing down her face. "Oh, Fiona," she whispers, not lifting her head from hands, "I want to go home."

Fiona closes her eyes and nods, sitting down next to her. "I know," she replies softly, her voice choked up. "I… but I don't think…"

This admission from Fiona - the one they'd never voiced aloud, even now - that they won't be going home - ever - takes the last of Tiffany's hope, whatever there may have been. _I won't cry,_ she tells herself again, swallowing the lump in her throat. For some reason, crying is special and she only does it in familiar places. A random bench in Lion's Arch is no place to be mourning.

But Tiffany can't help it; so she grabs on to the nearest familiar thing, which turns out to be Fiona, and hugs her for dear life. "Oh, Fiona," she sobs as she surrenders to the grief. "They're gone."

Fiona returns the embrace.. "It'll… it'll be alright," she murmurs softly, after a long minute of relative silence. "Everything will 'work out for the good of those who love me,'" she quotes. "God - or the Dream - has a plan, a reason. It'll all be alright."

* * *

Fiona blinks in astonishment at herself. Something in her mind had… clicked when she said that. She frowns curiously at Tiffany. It felt like… like the world was suddenly _right_ again, some evil banished, at least for a time.

Tiffany blinks at Fiona, then nods slowly.

_No_, Fiona realizes - not when she said it - when Tiffany heard it.

_My Wyld Hunt!_ Fiona nods to herself. To support Tiffany - to help her emotionally and mentally. Fiona hesitates for a moment, battling the emotions inside her, but gives in to the joy and hugs her sister for no other reason than that she feels like it. Maybe her Wyld Hunt isn't so bad after all. Maybe. It's still terrifying.

"It'll all be alright," she repeats quietly, a thrill of joy going through her as she realizes that she loves her sister too fiercely to let petty arguments over her Wyld Hunt stop her. And - obviously - Tiffany needs her, else she wouldn't _have_ this Wyld Hunt.

How could she have thought this was any less of a calling than her own goals? How could she have wished to be free of it? Her Wyld Hunt is… is… the highest task - no, _duty_ \- that Fiona can imagine. And yet, Fiona is terrified of it. _Why?_

Tiffany nods to herself, and Fiona can feel her sister's understanding through the Dream. She embraces it, now - feeling her sister's emotions does not turn her stomach as it normally does - and smiles at her sister - a little queasily, true, afraid of the Wyld Hunt that she'd just accepted - and repeats, "the Dream is in control. We just have to trust it."

_It's 'cause now, I'm responsible for if Tiffany fails again,_ Fiona realizes with a shiver of dread. _If she fails, that means I've failed in supporting her._ Fiona suddenly wants to go hide in a hole. _I am not ready for this!_ she wails at the Dream.

Tiffany takes a deep breath, then nods. "Right," she says with a sigh. "Let's get this Pact on the road. Heh - Vinn would have loved to hear that."

Fiona snorts in laughter. "Is the word 'road' _always_ going to make us think of Vinn?"

"That and 'car,'" Tiffany agrees. "I think the Pact _is_ my car." As Tiffany frowns and mumbles to herself about how _that_ makes any sense, Fiona laughs.

"Maybe Falcon can teach Vinn how to love Guild Wars with that," Fiona teases. "The Pact is a car - haha." *

* * *

Tiffany is hurrying off to Fort Marriner - General Almorra had called the Vigil together to retake the Keep. Fiona had just declined coming with her, saying she wanted to think about all the stuff that had been happening, and Tiffany perfectly understands. The last week or so had been quite hectic.

Suddenly, she hears a surprised squeak from Fiona, and Tiffany turns around, wariness and surprise bleeding into her from Fiona. "What's wrong?" she asks, glancing around warily. Beorn is on guard; and Tiffany can see why. Fiona is several feet closer to her than she was a moment ago, picking herself up as if she'd stumbled, but she wouldn't have shrieked like that for stumbling.

"I don't know," Fiona replies, catching her breath. "I just… _jerked_ or something."

"Are you alright?" Tiffany asks in concern. Lion's Arch feels more hostile now than ever, with it being deserted but for the military forces occupying it, and the destruction that the dragons had wreaked. Fiona nods, and Tiffany frowns.

"I'm fine," Fiona says again, and, through the Dream, Tiffany feels her - slightly confused as to what had happened, but not particularly concerned. Tiffany nods and, after a moment, turns to leave.

"It's the tetherstone!" Fiona yelps from behind her, and Tiffany turns around again. Fiona is not where she was before - she's several yards closer, though she isn't on the ground.

Tiffany blinks. "The tether… oh… of _course_ its the tetherstone," she groans, pulling the item out of her pocket. "It's… " she sighs in aggravation. "How could we have been so stupid? We didn't get the master tetherstone, just the anchor one! Petra is still controlling it."

Fiona shakes her head. "Right, now we're stuck together. I like you and all, Tiffany," she adds, and Tiffany feels her sister's humor infecting her, "but this is a bit too much. What's the range on it?

"Well, you're on the edge of it right now," Tiffany replies, disconcerted.

Fiona groans, and Tiffany empathizes. A mere fifteen feet separate them. "Well," Tiffany says slowly, "at least it's better than when Mom threatened to tie us together with duct tape!" Tiffany comes nearer her sister so they aren't shouting over fifteen feet.

Fiona giggles, Tiffany's encouragement taking hold. "Right… It's worse in a different way, though - how are we supposed to fight effectively? This could be very lethal in combat situations, not to mention distracting."

Tiffany feels Fiona's concern, and frowns. "I don't know…" Suddenly, she grimaces. "Somebody's going to ask, aren't they?" It isn't really a question. "Why we both go together everywhere."

Fiona snorts in laughter, and Tiffany smiles in shared mirth. "We go together everywhere to begin with, Tiff."

"Right!" Tiffany says, putting on an obviously fake smile. "I knew that. I did." She _had_ known, she's just acting like she hadn't known pretending she did. Wait, _had_ she thought of that?

Fiona laughs, and Tiffany laughs with her.

"You silly," Fiona says fondly. "I do still want to stay in Lion's Arch, though, and - "

"What's going on?" comes a voice. Tiffany instantly hides the tetherstone between her hands and Fiona spins around as Malena comes up behind the mesmer. "You seem out of sorts, Fiona," the norn notes.

Fiona shrugs, and Tiffany feels suddenly that Malena is right - Fiona is rather grumpy. Tiffany frowns; why would she be? _Is staying in Lion's Arch that big of a deal to her?_ Tiffany wonders, and through the Dream she feels that that is part of it, but not all; it is a means to an end. _What's this about?_

"Come on, tell me," Malena teases, interrupting Tiffany's thoughts.

Well, Tiffany sure isn't going to tell Malena that her surrogate mother thinks she's a naughty toddler that needs to stay at home. Tiffany knows Fiona feels the same… but they are both terrible at keeping secrets, especially since Tiffany had given the game away already with hiding the tetherstone so quickly.

"I had something else I wanted to talk to you about, Tiffany," Malena says, dropping the subject. "I wanted to say sorry for Braham - he shouldn't have brushed you off like that."

Tiffany shrugs, feeling slightly uncomfortable at this new topic. Braham is - or had been - her friend, and… having him reject her like that had stung. Not as bad as Forgal - but still, she can't shake the feeling that she'd lost him. She doesn't know why - objectively, she'd barely known him, even from the game - but she holds close to those she considers friends.

"I'm fine, really," Tiffany tells Malena. "He's, what, sixteen?" Malena nods, and she continues, "I've known a lot of sixteen-year-olds - including myself, at one point - they're like that." _Maybe he'll come around. The player doesn't get to know Braham until __after__ Zhaitan's defeat._

"You're trying not to say 'oh, how thoughtless of him' - aren't you?" Malena guesses.

"I hardly know you, how do you know that?" Tiffany queries, emulating the mild surprise coming from Fiona. Amusement comes from Beorn, and Tiffany smiles as Malena makes her response.

"Because I'm thinking the same exact thing," the norn replies dryly. "Really, he shouldn't have done that. I tried to talk to him about it, but he won't hear a word. I hope he'll come around, but if he's decided to be stubborn, you've got a lone Icebrood's chance in Hoelbrak."

Tiffany's smile turns into a grin at the analogy - influenced additionally by Fiona's opinion - but she frowns. "You think he's decided to… be stubborn?"

Malena shrugs. "It depends how much people bother him about it. He needs time to think, but only time will tell if his decision is favorable - and whether he accepts the result. His stubbornness against his own mind is exemplary, let me tell you."

Tiffany frowns, wondering for a moment how Braham would have fared against Mordremoth's mental attack, but Malena goes on.

"Sorry," she says, probably mistaking Tiffany's frown to mean something else. "He's normally more level-headed, but since it involves his mother, I can't say, and I'm not going to pry."

"No, yeah," Tiffany agrees. "I get it. Thanks for the effort, though. I appreciate it."

Malena shrugs. "I'd say it's Eir's fault, keeping it a secret, but you could easily make the same argument for Braham. You're just a victim caught in between."

"Not helping," Tiffany points out with a grimace. Neither of them is at fault. "For my part, I'd rather they worked out their differences. I get why Braham's upset - I really do - but it's not going to help anything."

"Sure," Malena shrugs. "Now, what's it you're hiding there?"

Tiffany sighs, shaking her head. "Sneaky little craze-head."

"I'll have you know I'm _not_ little," Malena says sternly, and Tiffany laughs.

"Fine," Tiffany grumbles. "My adopted mother decided she didn't want us getting killed fighting dragons, and trapped us with a tetherstone. We got the tetherstone, but now it's keeping us two together."

Malena winces. "Spirits, that's harsh."

"She's nicer than Forgal," Fiona notes flatly, and Tiffany snorts.

"I'm sure she'd laugh at us just as much as Forgal did if we were Braham and Reistr," Tiffany points out.

"Fair," Fiona nods. "Hey… what if we used it to tether Braham and Eir?"

Malena laughs. "You're really serious, aren't you? But it won't work. You could tether one or the other to yourself, but you'd need the cooperation of at least one of them to make your plan successful. Why don't you just destroy it?"

Tiffany shrugs. "Ah, well. It was worth a shot, though. Destroy it is!"

* * *

When Tiffany finally leaves, Fiona breathes a sigh of relief. She hadn't had much opportunity to be alone in the last few days - not from Tiffany.

Fiona had never, in her whole life, wanted to be apart from Tiffany. Except when Tiffany was being obsessive and insistent, of course, but that was a more momentary thing. Now… now, Fiona wants to stay around Tiffany as little as possible to begin with.

Because of the Dream. Fiona wants to avoid Tiffany because of the Dream. The whole idea is _weird_, every aspect of it. _Until you count the emotions,_ Fiona reminds herself. The Dream's empathy is… overwhelming.

Fiona walks slowly toward the Sanctum Harbor, and stands there, looking out over the waves.

Fiona knows that this isn't going to just stop on its own. Since the Dream is the one facilitating the empathy, there has to be some reason or purpose behind it, and Fiona is likely not going to be able to get it to stop.

Fiona growls and kicks a loose rock into the water.

"Ouch."

_What in the - _

"You're a Dreamer?" the voice says from behind her.

Fiona turns around and blinks at the sylvari. The way his face is formed of bark makes it look like he is wearing a mask. "Uh, yeah. Weird thing that happened. Uhm… why can't I feel you?" This sylvari is radiating nothing at all through the Dream. She can't even get his name, which is the sole exception to the rule of 'guess it before you feel it.'

"I'm Aerin. And you cannot feel me because I am Soundless* - cut off from the hive."

Fiona frowns. "The sylvari aren't a… hive."

Aerin waves a hand dismissively and turns to walk away. "Alright, then. It does not matter to me if you wish to keep being bombarded by other people's unwelcome emotions."

"Wait, what?" Fiona asks, surprised.

Aerin turns back - perhaps with a smile on his face, Fiona can't tell. "You dislike it, then?"

"Yes, indeed," Fiona agrees. "It's… invasive."

"Then you have found a kindred spirit. Soundlessness can cure you from this - cut you off from the Dream, and other Dreamers."

Fiona frowns. "But I don't want to be cut off from the Dream… just stop the emotions."

Aerin shakes his head. "There's no middle ground, I fear. Come, what has the Dream ever done for us - you especially, not being sylvari?"

Irritated, Fiona rolls her eyes. "Oh, I don't know. Given the sylvari race sentience. Provided me with some much-needed stability. Unites the sylvari race to a common cause. Is against the Elder Dragons. Helps individuals find their purpose through the Wyld Hunt."

"Well, if you insist," Aerin notes, sounding miffed. "If you ever want to try it out, come find me… although on second thought, you wouldn't know where to look. Oh well."

Fiona stares after him, watching her only opportunity to escape the emotions walk away. She could at least learn how to go Soundless, just in case…

But she stands rooted to the spot until Aerin rounds a corner. She feels deflated, empty. She turns around to stare over the water again. _I choose the Dream over Soundlessness,_ she says, directing her thoughts toward the Dream, feeling a pressure behind her eyes. _I choose the Dream over all this emotion thing. Help me… help me, please._ She squeezes her eyes shut to hold back the tears that threaten to fall. She will be tossed on the waves of the emotions of those around her, helpless and… well, her mind would hardly be her own anymore.

_I guess I finally understand why Tiffany is so obsessed about how horrible Mordremoth is._

"But not my will, Lord, but yours be done," Fiona whispers, blinking back tears again. If the Dream wishes this to be her fate… then so be it. _All things work out to the good of those who love God._

This is extremely comforting, somehow. _I'll be alright, when all is said and done._ Even if she loses herself temporarily, she'll be alright… so long as she can survive the interim.

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

Okay! That was exhausting to write. This chapter was one of the hardest, actually, and is one of the reasons I had to wait so long to even start posting. But yeah. (There were a bunch of other reasons and this was a very small one, but still.)

The very fact that I have waited this long to post should tell you that I have EVERYTHING hammered out. This is going to be one good story, if I do say so myself. At the same time I'm terrified that I messed something up. (If Tiffany or Fiona or Trahearne think about something totally random sometime, tell me please and I'll take a look. I halfway don't trust Scrivener's file-backup-organization-etc system, and am fearing that _every instance_ of each scene will get put in, but this is what post-Scrivener process reading is for.

* Alright I am _so_ telling Vinn that the Pact is a car. Later, when he's old enough to get it. Step one: Make sure he stays obsessed over cars until he's older.

Thanks for bearing with me through the long dry season of the hiatus of the _Tassof Series_.

Don't forget to review (or use the code HwKw8vy to join Tassof Friends on Discord)!


	4. Chapter 3: Friendly Discussions

THE UNBROKEN

* * *

Summary: The Vigil retake the Vigil Keep from the Risen. Tiffany travels back to Lion's Arch to tell Trahearne, and on the way she talks to Forgal about Asvor. She talks to Trahearne for a while and assures him that she believes in his ability to lead.

* * *

Chapter three: Friendly Discussions

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

Okay, shorter chapter than usual today, because I'm weird (but also awesome).

Guess what? It's still Tuesday. It's still the same day that the formation of the Pact Champions happened on. (Lots of stuff happens in one day!) And the book lasts for like six weeks… oh dear. Just thinking about dates and time and traveling and - oh stop it my headache.

_**Okay, here's the story now:**_

* * *

Tiffany, Forgal, and the rest of the Vigil - as many as can be spared - are heading toward the Vigil Keep. General Almorra had put the Warmasters in charge of different divisions, and Tiffany, leading the group that is retaking the courtyard, finds herself embracing the task. This attacking force is the full available might of the Vigil, and there are sylvari all through their numbers. Tiffany is still trying to get used to the emotions she feels from them, but she appreciates the sense of connection and life that the Dream brings her.

The one to which she is nearest - that the Dream tells her is named Eveanin - makes Tiffany feel confident; and she is also glancing around with the usual sylvari inquisitiveness, and Tiffany finds herself curiously wondering what the coming battle will be like. Tiffany can feel Eveanin's emotions, feel them as if they were her own, which is quite an interesting experience, partially because Tiffany isn't sure whether she would be feeling the same emotion by herself. Tiffany suddenly wonders if this is why 'curious' always seems to apply to sylvari; since there's always something to wonder about, they might just catch it from each other all the time.

But now is not the time for idle thoughts; General Almorra, after telling Tiffany to lead the courtyard group, had led another division into the Keep itself, and it is time for battle.

As Tiffany, fighting at close range so she can stay near her soldiers, cuts down Risen with a Crusader Eveanin fighting next to her, she experiences most of the fluctuations in her emotions; Tiffany can easily guess what Eveanin would be feeling at a given moment in the battle, and that guess translates into relatively tangible feeling of her own.

It is quite interesting, confusing, and dangerous… but exhilarating. Eveanin and the other sylvari just feel so… alive; they seem more _real_ than anyone else around her except Beorn; more nuanced and deep, with layers of emotion and reason and intelligence. And yet, they're all… muted. Something is different about them; as if they could be yet more alive, but they aren't. They are too automated, too reflexive and… not _predictable_, but routine.

Tiffany, wielding her axes and taking on the Risen side-by-side with Beorn, suddenly notices how… fluid the two of them are. The moment of hesitation, that split second of processing time, the inexact interpretations that existed between them before the Dream… all are gone; now, she feels what he is feeling as soon as he feels it, and reflexes kick in - and vice versa. Tiffany begins sharing every tiny fluctuation in her emotions with her companion, and he does the same. They hadn't done this before; the little details would just be confusing. But now it saves them both from injury several times, where one had seen danger the other hadn't.

Tiffany's peripheral vision includes Eveanin and several other sylvari, but she couldn't ever feel the same from them as she feels from Beorn. Panic flashes into her from Eveanin as the sylvari dodges the swing of a sword; triumphant glee from one - Recruit Iomar, engineer - that just killed a Risen; a cry of pain from a Warmaster Cailyn - warrior - manifests itself to Tiffany as a searing pain lancing through her arm. A shout of _no!_ from Tactician Trina - thief - in a tone of anguish - or perhaps that was just in her mind? - tells Tiffany that the Vigil has just lost a soldier - not a sylvari himself, but Trina's friend, since Tiffany could not feel the death herself.

On the other hand, alarm from Beorn tells Tiffany there is a Risen behind her; feeling it through the Dream - it and all the subtle nuances that she guesses from knowing him so well, such as the slight tilt of his eyes to the left - allows her to roll to the right, out of the way, without even looking. The Dream had confirmed her guess that the attacker is coming from the left before she even knew she had guessed it.

Tiffany leaves her axe behind her and pulls a dagger out of her sleeve, then rolls away from the Risen, and springs to her feet. It comes after her, and she spins around and behind the Risen, drawing a dagger across its spine. As it falls, useless, to the ground, she doesn't feel anything from Eveanin. The sylvari had moved out of Tiffany's line of sight; Tiffany has nothing to be guessing through the Dream. But she _always_ knows what Beorn is feeling.

Tiffany glances over to see the sylvari struggling to hold off the blade of a Risen. Tiffany intervenes, her axe spinning around to lop off the corpse's sword-arm while Beorn deals with another Risen that had been about to kill her.

Eveanin catches her breath, startled surprise coming through as she glances at Tiffany and realizes she isn't a sylvari. Tiffany sees a Risen behind Eveanin and raises a hand to point, but the sylvari spins around, having seen the warning in Tiffany's eyes and guessed through the Dream.

A while later, a similar thing happens; Tiffany is stuck fighting a Risen with more skill than most, and as Beorn holds off the other Risen, Eveanin joins her. Tiffany finds herself almost surprised at how little Eveanin seems to know of Tiffany's feelings; that is, until she remembers that the only reason her connection with Beorn is so strong is because of the two-fold nature of it.

Soon after, a grunt of pain catches Tiffany's attention, and she realizes Eveanin has taken a wound; Eveanin's emotion surges through Tiffany and she lunges forward to destroy the Risen that had done it. Eveanin spins around to confront another Risen, and Beorn appears at Tiffany's side to fend off the one that had approached while she dealt with the first.

Eveanin's blade spins, and blue guardian magic flashes around her*, but Tiffany turns too late to save her; the sylvari is impaled by a Risen blade. Tiffany destroys the Risen and looks for the sylvari - on the ground, gasping her last breaths. Tiffany can feel the pain, panic, anger, desperation and despair coursing through the Crusader as life's light dims from her eyes.

Feeling as if she was dying, injury and all - only to suddenly feel _nothing_ \- is quite disorienting for Tiffany, but the most jarring impact is not being able to feel the dead Dreamer anymore. She's just _not there_. The feeling of absence where there had once been life is… wrong. _So_ wrong, like… like she _wasn't supposed to die_, somehow, even though the Dream wouldn't have let her die if she wasn't supposed to.

Tiffany hadn't known Eveanin, but it felt like she had - she'd known her emotions for a good half hour, maybe full hour, while in battle. They'd fought together and had each other's backs, and Tiffany hadn't been able to stop the wound that killed her. Tiffany reminds herself that the Dream is in control - and Eveanin is in whatever version of heaven exists in Tyria. Unlike her family, unlike Deborah, Tiffany _will_ see her again. But Eveanin is still dead. She isn't here, in Tyria, fighting Risen. She had friends, she had goals, she had a life to live. And now she can't live it - she's gone and dead.

And although Tiffany knows that the Dream planned out this incident, taking into account all of Eveanin's history and her interactions everybody ever, and this was the best thing that could have happened… still it feels wrong, on a fundamental level. Tiffany doesn't know what to think about this; death isn't wrong. Death is part of the natural order of _how things work_. So why does it feel like this death, in particular, is a violation of the rules of the world?

Tiffany is pulled back into the battle, fighting Risen and missing Eveanin's presence; realizing that Eveanin has been left behind by the world. History will go on without her. She'd left her mark on the world, but now she is gone. She can no longer fight on the side of the Pact, can no longer be a force against darkness as all Vigil are sworn to do. But - like all things - the Dream does nothing without meaning. It was Eveanin's time to die; for any of the many reasons the Dream might have had. That doesn't make her absence any less… solemn. Tiffany had barely known the guardian, yet her heart still feels heavy when she thinks about her death.

So she sets her mind back on the fight, and through the shifting of the battle, other sylvari come close enough to join her, then leave, but mostly Tiffany realizes that the true fight is between light and darkness; all the sylvari, the Dream, the _life_, fighting these dead corpses that have no spark of their own. Another facet of Trahearne's Wyld Hunt falls into place; he seeks to spread life to this darkness, to cure the wound on Tyria. How much deader Orr must be than even being alone in a silent forest, with nature all around.

How _lonely_ it must be in Orr. Tiffany almost wants to go find out herself; as if the fight with Risen is boring and she would rather see what loneliness and absence feels like. She'd fought Risen before; now they seem even more lifeless by comparison, since she has the Dream.

* * *

When the battle is over, Tiffany notes that a new recruit - Noland, ranger - had done a good job, and gives him a nod of approval. Noland beams in pleasure - no doubt feeling the emotion that sparked the praise - which Tiffany promptly feels herself, through the Dream. As Tiffany walks away, however, she wonders if maybe that feeling which had prompted the nod was his to start with. This problem concerns Tiffany for a moment until she realizes that she would have had to guess it first to be able to feel it; it must have been genuine on her own part - perhaps enhanced a little once she thought of it - but nothing serious. Having solved this conundrum, Tiffany nods to herself, satisfied.

The intricacies of the Dream's empathy intrigue Tiffany; so much was able to be communicated through a simple facial expression - something that, among humans, would be considered as a sign of knowing a person well, is, among sylvari, merely a mark of an observant and quick mind. What else is there to figure out about the Dream and this connection? How does it work, why, and how could it be used in certain instances? If one made a habit of checking on somebody to see if they were in danger, would that work effectively if done through the Dream?

The possibilities are endless, Tiffany realizes, especially since, if she guesses, she can figure out people's individual thoughts. She'd done it with Beorn countless times already, and he had done the same with her.

The Dream, Tiffany had found, solves that barrier that Tiffany had felt long ago; the fact that she does not actually _feel_ what Beorn sends her, only knows what it is. The Dream allows her to feel it - she is truly one with her companion. Having experienced this in battle already - and now experiencing it in a state of relative rest - Tiffany can truly appreciate this feeling. It is sometimes disorienting and confusing, true; but Tiffany embraces the chance to grow with her companion.

Tiffany looks around at the rest of her soldiers in the now cleared courtyard, and realizes suddenly how… empty it all is. The life of emotion coming from Beorn and the other sylvari is not matched in the two norn conversing loudly a few yards away; she cannot guess, and so cannot feel, the excitement evident in the asura explaining her newest idea for an invention; the satisfied smirk on a nearby charr evokes nothing in Tiffany herself, and she cannot get confirmation that the human gazing northward in contemplation is thinking about the centaurs.

But such activity and life exists in Noland, exclaiming to a friend that 'Warmaster Tiffany said I did a good job!' with such delight, because he had been doing his best and proud to be recognized for it - that Tiffany can't help but pity the ones who are cut off from this amazing connection. No wonder conflict among the sylvari is so low, with their only major dividing lines being along who embraces the Dream who rejects it. She also now understands why the numbers of Nightmare Court are so low, and why the Soundless are stigmatized; who would _want_ to be cut off from the Dream?

All this and more; and yet the depth she feels in Beorn - knowing his whys and reasonings - is so much deeper than what the Dream tells her of the other sylvari. Is it because she knows him better? Is it because she can't possibly guess all the things going on in the minds of the other sylvari, whereas Beorn can tell her everything through the companion bond? Tiffany decides that, however it works, it is good; Beorn is more than an acquaintance or even a friend. He's her _companion._

These wells of life - these other sylvari - scattered among all the deadness make Tiffany feel, as a Dreamer herself, responsible for spreading it somehow. Tiffany doesn't have the slightest idea how - maybe it's just an urge all sylvari experience. If her theory about the Dream and the sylvari being in an equivalent (or close enough) time period to the Old Testament, then perhaps its just a harbinger of times to come, when the Dream will be open to all.

Tiffany looks up toward the Keep when she hears a shout, and sees Warmaster Laranthir on the ramparts of the Keep.

"The General needs your assistance!" he calls, and immediately Tiffany feels the same urgency that the sylvari is displaying.

"Come on!" Tiffany calls to the soldiers under her command. "Let's kill some more Risen!"

Tiffany feels the emotions spring up in the other sylvari, as well, caught from Tiffany, and she pauses for a moment to admire how they are all reacting to each other. How all sylvari - always - are reacting to each other. She wonders if, perhaps, if one took the time, one could go to the Grove and feel the emotions swirling throughout the city like currents, caught by one and transferred to another and springing up somewhere new. It puts a whole new spin on the idea that a smile goes a long way. She even remembers how, in the Grove, she had even felt the Pale Tree, all around her, and how dull everything was once she left.

As Tiffany and her troops hurry into the Keep after Laranthir, and follow him to the portion overlooking the river, Tiffany sees several more sylvari, and their names spring into her mind almost instantly as she thinks about them. Cowan, Tudi, Cora, Rhedyn; all, Tiffany can see and feel, intensely engaged in the fight at hand.

As she joins in the fray herself, one of them - Cowan - turns toward her for a moment with surprise on his face, then turn back to the battle hastily.

Tiffany realizes that he must have felt that she isn't a sylvari; something that he probably had never felt before. A subconscious search of the Dream, coming up negative, on something that had always been assumed before, that had never even felt different from normal.

* * *

After the battle, Cowan approaches her, and Tiffany's guess is validated; he is wondering why he can feel her through the Dream. She finds herself wondering why she can touch the Dream, which is rather disorienting since she does know, but the feeling persists, like an odd itch, until she explains what had happened; then it evaporates into her own understanding.

Tiffany frowns as he walks away. Again, that nagging feeling that his emotions are too automatic, too routine. They aren't fake - she can feel them plain as day - but there is something missing. A… _depth_ that she had felt from Fiona and Caithe and Trahearne that is simply not there in Cowan, Trina, Iomar, and the others, and even Sieran to some extent. Tiffany decides to ask somebody about it - Trahearne or Caithe or Sieran, whoever she runs into first. Or whoever she has reason to look for first.

* * *

"Warmaster Tiffany reporting, General!"

"At ease, Warmaster," General Almorra replies. "I want you to head back to Lion's Arch and inform Marshal Trahearne of our victory here. I have some things to take care of, but I will be in Lion's Arch before long."

"Understood," Tiffany replies with a salute.

"Very well," the General says with a satisfied nod. "You are dismissed."

* * *

Forgal goes with her, and Tiffany appreciates the presence of her friend. He calms her, even just walking by her side. She wonders what _he_ thinks about life, knowing that he should be dead.

She can't feel _him_ through the Dream. Tiffany frowns; if he does die, what happens then? What is the Dream's plan for dealing with all those who aren't sylvari - when it reverts all the other afterlives to the same system, what happens?

The Dream, still hovering in the back of Tiffany's mind, reassures her just by being there, just by showing it cares about her and her problems. _It'll be fine - the Dream has a plan._ Tiffany smiles. The Dream is God - merciful and just and loving. It cares.

"Tiffany," Forgal says presently, "I'm having second thoughts about this alliance. You know I don't trust the Order, and while I agree that they're necessary if we want to fight Zhaitan… I just don't feel comfortable around them."

Tiffany sighs. "Forgal, you know the Order had nothing to do with Asvor."

Forgal huffs. "I know. But… I don't know. I've just been so antsy about them for so long now, and the connection is just so strong. I think of the Order, I think of Asvor. I can't trust them - I can't ever be comfortable working with them - when they and Asvor are wrapped together so tightly in my head."

"But that's not a problem with me and Fiona," Tiffany points out.

"That's because I know you. You're more than the Order of Whispers; I can forget that when interacting with you. But all these other people - they're all defined by their rank in the Order. Your Lightbringer, those Preceptors, that Leon fellow that interrupted the Orders' meeting when we got together as the Pact - they're all just Whispers. Even though I know Leon is Fiona's friend, and he's actually a member of the Priory, the fact that he's Whispers just overshadows that, and I can't think of anything else."

Tiffany frowns. "It's like Asvor… _brainwashed_ you or something."

Forgal grimaces. "Doesn't change the fact that - even if I know in my head that they're not really evil - they're still tied to Asvor. Maybe if I could finally deal with her, that would help, but she's still completely off the radar, isn't she?"

"Yeah. Didn't you say at one point that you'd beaten her in a battle for once in forever, and she was going to come back for a rematch?"

"Yes. I'd have expected her by now."

"Do you think you'll be able to stop her next time?"

"No. I was lucky before - we've always been evenly matched. And she knows better than to find me when I'm with allies."

"Well, perhaps you can convince Trahearne to let you have a role that's mostly Vigil-based, or one where you can go through me or Fiona for the Whispers things. It's not like there will always be gigantic threats like the dragon champions that the five of us will have to confront together, especially until we get to Fort Trinity."

"Get to… where?"

"Oh, that's the name of the Pact's headquarters. It's a ruined fortress just outside Orr itself… Right, I guess that name hasn't been decided on yet. Trahearne might not even have picked that location, either."

"What are you going to do if he picks a different name or location?" Forgal wonders.

"Probably throw a fit. I was going to name one of my children Trinity, before I came to Tyria."

"You had children?" Forgal asks in surprise.

Tiffany bursts out laughing. "Oh, no! But I loved dreaming about when I'd finally get around to settling down and starting a family. I had a bunch of siblings, you know," she adds wistfully, "and there was almost always little ones running around. I miss them."

"I know," Forgal replies quietly, and the rest of the walk is taken in silence.

* * *

When she and Forgal reach Lion's Arch, they part ways, as Forgal has his own assignment. Tiffany notices that there are more people than before - Lion's Arch is still a shell of its former self, but people are returning and rebuilding.

As she stands near the makeshift, temporary bridge linking Fort Marriner with the rest of Lion's Arch, she pauses, looking out over Sanctum Harbor. The sunken remains of the Dead Ships are scattered here and there, and the lighthouse that had once stood at the mouth of the harbor ends in a jagged ruin, the top half lying in the water below. The platform that had once housed the asura gates is completely gone, and even the stone pillars that had held it up are being removed by asura and their golems in preparation for building a newer version.

And that is only the immediately noticeable damage - the acid-spitting dragons had destroyed many of Lion's Arch's buildings, had eroded the cobblestone streets and scarred the landscape. Tiffany wonders if Lion's Arch will ever be the same, if it will become like New Lion's Arch after Scarlet had had her way with it in the game.

Tiffany shakes her head. So much destruction. At least the Pact is up and running now - if barely - so something like this won't happen again.

She turns toward Fort Marriner, but she sees Trahearne on the makeshift bridge, looking out over the harbor, looking rather small in the distance.

_We die so easily. We are all so weak and insignificant, battling for our own lives against more powerful forces._ Deborah is dead, and so is Eveanin, both killed by Risen. Tiffany hadn't really thought before about how… _vulnerable_ everybody is. Eveanin had fallen to a stray Risen, and Tiffany could as well, just as easily. Her superior skill and experience mean little; it only takes one mistake, one moment of distraction. Tiffany had barely known Eveanin; how much bigger of a hole in her mind would Trahearne leave, if he died? Fiona? Anyone else she knows well?

Tiffany vows not to let that happen. Despite sylvari going into the Dream upon death, it still… if Trahearne dies, it won't matter. He'd still be _dead_. Marshal Trahearne wouldn't be around to… be Marshal Trahearne anymore. And it would still be Tiffany's fault, whether because she could have changed it and didn't, or because she did… because she knows the future, and that is her burden now. And because of her Wyld Hunt, to protect people from the predations of the Elder Dragons.

As she turns her steps in his direction, she notices that he seems to be deep in thought. "Hey, Trahearne," she greets.

He turns toward her, and brightens upon seeing who it is. Tiffany feels pleased surprise from him through the Dream. "Greetings, Tiffany. Are you well?"

Tiffany sighs at the almost routine question**, but then she feels the genuine mix of interest and concern coming through the Dream, and realizes that he _does_ care - she'd just come from a battle, after all. "I'm fine, thanks for asking," she says with a smile. "And you?"

"As well as I can be," he replies, and she looks for - and finds - the tired stress he feels.

"What do you mean?" she presses. "Is there any way I can help?"

"The Pact is so new," he tells her, turning away to look over the water again, "and I am… unfamiliar with organizing such a large and diverse group of individuals. I have several thoughts on how to proceed, but I am unsure how to implement them. I would like your opinion, if you have the time."

Tiffany blinks. Of course she has the time. "I… yes, of course," she replies. "I'd be happy to help." She wonders what he'll be asking about; she doesn't remember very well how the original retaking of Claw Island had gone, and isn't sure what ideas about the Pact had been brought up then that are missing this time around.

"This pact needs a headquarters, a base of operations, if we are to strike into Orr," the Marshal begins as the new Pact Champion joins him standing on the edge of the bridge. "I have a location in mind, but it is far from here, and would need some work to make it habitable. At the same time, I am hesitant to leave the Orders to their own devices for too long, lest they fall apart. Any team sent ahead to work on the fortress would not be much speedier than the main body of the pact, and would have no hope of completing repairs in time to house this alliance."

Tiffany frowns; this problem had never come up in the game - not that she can recall - but it is, she can see, a valid concern. Asura gates and waypoints are out of the question, of course, although she does wonder if Destiny's Edge still has Snaff's portable model. "Tell me about this headquarters," she says finally, hoping for inspiration.

"It is an abandoned fortress on Terzetto Bay," Trahearne explains. "It is not precisely located within Orr, but I believe that is for the best. It is currently infested with Risen, as are many parts in that region, but it can be easily reclaimed. It is reconstruction that I am concerned with, however. Materials are not hard to come by, nor willing workers, but time, as I said, is in short supply."

"Well… hmm." she tilts her head in thought. "What I would do if I were you would be to send a reconstruction team as soon as possible; that seems not to require very much effort. As they are traveling there and beginning work, you can remain here while you get the Pact together - if I guess right, there are many other concerns that need to be dealt with, and I doubt they are ready to move out quite yet. If need be, you could delay a little to give the reconstruction team time." Tiffany pauses for a moment, then asks, "does this fortress have a name?"

Trahearne frowns. "No… I had been more concerned with other topics. But you are right; it should be something inspiring, perhaps. Do you have any suggestions?"

She does. "Well… the number three seems to have been a theme. Three orders uniting to fight three champions. How does Fort Trinity sound?"

The sylvari nods thoughtfully. "You seem to have a knack for naming things."

The ranger shrugs, instantly uncomfortable. She never knows what to do when people compliment her, except for that awkward-sounding 'thanks' that's even worse. "Yeah, well… I mostly steal other people's names for stuff," she hedges.

"I see," he replies, but she can feel a touch of humor from him through the Dream. "I think your solution to the problem of repairing this Fort Trinity is a sound one, but we cannot delay: Zhaitan has already proved its willingness to attack us - twice. I believe Sieran can oversee that project; she seems enthusiastic."

"To say the least," Tiffany agrees. "She's also an elementalist, right? Would that help any?"

"Possibly," the necromancer acknowledges, "although I cannot be certain to what extent. I know very little about the elemental arts."

Tiffany nods, and silence falls for a moment before Trahearne speaks again.

"You seem troubled," he says, and the ranger blinks for a moment before realizing that he can feel _her_ through the Dream, as well, and her earlier confusion about the Dream must have shown through.

"I… you could say that, I suppose," she says slowly. "Less 'troubled' and more 'confused,' though, or… I don't know. It's like… people die, right? Nevermind, stupid question, of course they do. But… like… how does it work?"

"I'm… not sure I understand."

Tiffany grumbles to herself. "I am so bad at explaining things. I don't even know what I'm asking. Like, so, this Crusader named Eveanin was killed in battle earlier, and it was the first time I'd felt somebody die through the Dream, and… like… I don't know!" she throws up her hands in frustration.

Trahearne frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Well… it's just… it's just _wrong,_" she groans, squirming at the memory. "Like a… a… I don't know, it just _feels wrong!_" She wonders if the sylvari has ever felt this way before, if he knows how to describe it - and she feels it from him; a hole in the world, a wound in the soul of Tyria, vast and open and impossibly _wrong_… her eyes widen in realization. "It's a…"

"Your Wyld Hunt," he says quietly.

"Right… I'm supposed to protect people from the Elder Dragons… oh come _on!_" she exclaims in frustration. "How am I supposed to do _that?_ I can't protect everybody!"

"I know the feeling," he agrees with a sigh.

Tiffany sits down crosslegged on the side of the bridge. "Why do I want to go back home _now_, of all times," she grumbles. "Back where there aren't any Elder Dragons and Wyld Hunts and all that. Absolute worst time to get that feeling, when I can't go home, and _now_ I absolutely wouldn't, even if it were possible. I gotta stick this out, somehow, and it… like… " she just groans in frustration. "This is _hard_," she complains. "How do you deal with this all the time?"

"By working on it," Trahearne replies succinctly, looking down at her. "I couldn't live with myself if I didn't try to fix it every waking hour, no matter how impossible it seems."

"Everything ever in the whole entire world is so much _extra complicated_ now," comes the reply, seemingly having little to do with the necromancer's remark, but Tiffany is seeing connections all over the place. If ever she wished she was just a normal person who didn't know the future, that time was now.

"It's hard," the sylvari agrees, sitting down beside her. "But look on the bright side; once you've done that, you'll be _done_. You'll have fixed it."

"Yeah, but I have to kill _all_ the dragons," the newly-minted Wyld Hunt Valiant groans. "Every last one. Once we kill Zhaitan, it'll be like - 'hooray! We killed a dragon - that's supposed to be impossible! Yeehaa! Oh wait, there's five more.' It's a fake victory. C'mon, and I was so excited about this Hunt, too. I can't believe I thought it was the best thing to happen to me in both my lives."

"Yes. Personally, I thought you'd gone crazy."

"I don't blame you." A comfortable silence falls, with both of them looking out over the water, and Tiffany contemplates the events of the day. Somehow, now that she's worked through and understands Eveanin's death, it doesn't seem so horrible. A twinge of the desperation she'd felt earlier remains, as if to remind her that she can't possibly stand by and watch such a thing happen again. "I think," she says at length, "that the Dream is very nice to us."

Trahearne glances at her. "That's a rather different point of view from the one you seemed to have earlier," he notes with a touch of humor.

She shrugs, slightly embarrassed by her earlier outburst. In front of _Trahearne_, no less. "Yeah, well, I was all frustrated back then. I get weird when I'm frustrated. But the Dream's nice because… oh I don't know. It's just so… _comforting_, somehow, just by being here. Understanding what's going on and how and why helps, but… I don't know."

"I know what you mean. You are in a unique position, Tiffany - encountering the Dream and the concept of Wyld Hunts after having first experienced a life without them. Sylvari have to deal with it when they're young, right after awakening, and it's all new and confusing and wonderful; but sometimes it's too much. You, I think, have handled it quite well."

She smiles. "Thanks," she says, "although I do have another question. How does this… emotion-sharing thing work? Is it like reading a person's mind or something?"

He frowns. "You could say that, I suppose. It is more like asking the Dream to divulge information, though. The Dream knows your mind as well as it knows mine, but it is always the Dream's choice to reveal information. Some sylvari dislike feeling exactly what another is feeling - it confuses them and sometimes even makes them forget who they are. Most sylvari merely only _know_, on a deep level, what the other is feeling. It is very hard to describe, but it is also different for everyone. The Dream knows exactly what you need."

"So when you guess that somebody is feeling a certain way, you're really asking the Dream for confirmation?"

"Exactly," he replies. "On the other end, occasionally the Dream will even aid you in concealing a secret, if you wish it to."

"It's our friend," she says "That's how we always described it on earth. Our creator, redeemer and friend."

"Yes, friend is the word I would use to describe it," he agrees.

Tiffany nods slowly. "I see." After a pause, she continues, "so there's this weird thing that's been happening. Some of the things I'm feeling are just… I don't know… dead. I mean they're alive in comparison to people who don't have the Dream, but like… as compared to, say, Fiona. The other sylvari I was fighting with earlier felt all weird." Seeing the frown on Trahearne's face, she smiles apologetically. "I'm doing a terrible job of describing it," she mutters to herself. "It's like they're too… predictable or something. There's no underlying _anything_, I guess, no reasons _why_."

"Oh," he says. "You just don't know them that well. You can't guess at their motives and reasons if you don't know them well enough."

"Oh," Tiffany realizes. "Yeah, okay. Thanks, that was kind of bothering me."

"I am glad to have been of assistance," the sylvari tells her, and silence falls again.

* * *

After a moment of silence, Trahearne asks, "why did you nominate me to lead the Pact? I'm no general."

"You _are_, though," Tiffany points out with a small grin. "You just don't know it yet."

"How do _you_ know it?"

"Well, the Dream, for one - I don't think it would have shown a future that was impossible, or even unlikely - I mean, it had to have a reason for showing us."

"But you…" Trahearne pauses for a moment. "You seemed excited about it even when we first saw that part of the vision, as contrasted to the rest of it."

"Well… it's like it confirmed something I already knew… subconsciously. I mean, you're not a member of any Order, yet they all respect you. You're the highest authority on Orr's history, and you know the most about Risen and Zhaitan and it's corruption. You may not have experience leading, but… you're a natural leader. You have that commanding presence, you're sure of yourself, and you don't let idiots like Talon walk all over you."

"But I… but…" Trahearne tries to object, but he can't fault Tiffany's logic. "I'm no general," he repeats.

Tiffany smiles. "Trahearne," she says, sounding amused, "I don't care if you're not. You _will be_."

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

"You _will_ be."

That's totally not foreshadowing. (And if it was, it's pretty lame, because you already knew that.) (Of course, it could also be _opposite_ foreshadowing, meaning that he _won't_ actually… but I would never do that to Trahearne. Or Tiffany. Or the Pact in general. Or all of Tyria, for that matter.)

This chapter was mostly about Tiffany, but I do need to tie up the loose ends from all of Tiffany being the main character of the other books!

* Eveanin is my sylvari guardian character… I think she showed up when Tiffany and Fiona were tracking down Scarlet who'd been 'captured' (aka rescued) from the Vigil Keep. And yes I killed her. (Somebody had to die, and she at least had been mentioned before. Even if nobody remembered her…)

** Tiffany's obsession with the game and Trahearne _started_ at the end of Heart of Thorns. At that time, she had only super-vague memories of the personal story. At the time she came to Tyria, she was in the middle of replaying it. I don't remember what part she's at, but I've been working off of 'she has played up to the first mission of fighting the Eyes of Zhaitan' plus various tidbits that she remembers separately (like that they attacked Zhaitan with airships) for some time now. Therefore, she does not remember all of Trahearne's lines like most people who are obsessed with him do. (But, since I _have_ finished replaying, I do know these things, and so Tiffany gets to live them out in real-time. Fun!)

Anyway. Don't forget to leave a review (or use the code HwKw8vy to join Tassof Friends on Discord)!


	5. Chapter 4: Leaving Lion's Arch

THE UNBROKEN

* * *

Summary: After some hesitation (and discussion with Fiona), Trahearne decides that he _will_ lead the Pact. Fiona negotiates with the College of Dynamics for six asura gates between the headquarters of the Orders and Fort Trinity. Later, Trahearne discusses his plans with the heads of the Orders and the Pact Champions. Vrire is given the task of figuring out the Pact's route to Orr while Sieran takes a reconstruction crew to rebuild Fort Trinity. Fiona is in charge of communications and Tiffany and Forgal are doing Vigil things.

* * *

Chapter four: Leaving Lion's Arch

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

Hi again! More chapters! Also _yee_ I love this story. Just in case I haven't said it enough already. (I keep saying it because there's nothing else I can say that wouldn't be spoilers; for example, explaining WHY I love it, which I'll be able to do better as the story progresses. _Too bad some of the things in this chapter will have no relevance until book six, which won't happen for ages and is not in the process of being written. Oh well._

There! I said some things! I _knew_ I wouldn't be able to resist it. (You should see the one note I made to myself once when I was going crazy with nobody to talk to. It was a list of all the people who die, almost die, and are Risen, with all the names [redacted] out. It was slightly hilarious. And it was supposed to show up last chapter but I decided not to put it in since it was really long, irrelevant, and conveyed zero relevant information.)

_**Okay, here's the story now**_

* * *

The din of creaking machinery, yelling commands, and arguing workers fills the air.

"Put that brick there!"

"We need more power crystals for these gates!"

"This golem has broken down!"

"There's no way this will be on time!"

"We only need two power crystals per gate!"

"Then send it for repair and get a new one!"

"What do we need two extra gates for?"

"I don't see the need to build a 'more solid' platform than last time."

"Leave that where it is and do something useful, you dolt!"

"Lion's Arch gates need more crystals, I don't know why!"

"This golem has malfunctioned! Assistance!"

"Classified information!"

A civilian hurries through the mess, glaring daggers at the krewe leader. "I can't believe you got the Priory to hand back the waypoint," she scowls. "Did you forget that asura live here, too? _Dynamics_ asura, at that?"

The krewe leader doesn't answer - perhaps he didn't hear her through all the noise - but the civilian keeps going, shoving her way past the other asura and scowling heavily at a nearby sylvari as she storms away.

Trahearne doesn't want to interact with the loud group of asura. For one thing, he still doesn't feel like any sort of leader. He'd been able to speak to his new Pact Champions in that capacity - technically - but he already knows them. He might even be able to act like a leader around the rest of the allied Orders, when it comes down to it. But these asura are far outside his comfort zone - _and_ any authority he might try to hide behind.

_These asura probably aren't even the ones I need to talk to,_ Trahearne realizes, trying to talk himself out of it. But - even if they're not - he needs to talk to them to find out who he _should_ talk to. Maybe it can wait until _after_ Fort Trinity is secured.

_Actually, no, not if we want to get this done efficiently and move on to Zhaitan before it makes another move._

Trahearne wonders - not for the first time - if he even wants to lead the Pact. He'd accepted the role in a moment of impulsiveness, because of Brun and Claw Island and the fact that maybe he would be able to get out of it after the assaulting force was gone. He should have known that no such thing was going to happen. Especially once he saw how effective the alliance was and how much it could accomplish… so long as they were unified.

Killing Zhaitan is not a part of his Wyld Hunt, even if he does desperately wish to visit revenge on the dragon for corrupting Orr. _But I'll never have the time to figure out how to cleanse it in the first place if I'm busy leading an army and trying to keep them from killing each other._

And - what the ghost of King Reza had said - that killing Zhaitan would unchain Corruption further. Normally, if Trahearne had been given the choice between completing his Hunt and killing Zhaitan, he would have opted for completing his Hunt. He now has assurance that it is _not_ impossible, from the same Reza.

But Zhaitan can always re-corrupt Orr. If that can't happen, the dragon can corrupt somewhere else. Although Trahearne is biased toward Orr - he'd come to love the place, and he wishes it freed of Corruption for more than his Hunt - he does know that other places contain just as rich a history as Orr does, are just as important.

_Would I trade Orr's health for the destruction of the world?_ Trahearne doesn't know.

Trahearne _does_ know, but he doesn't want to. He knows that Orr is not worth all of Tyria. But still he clings to it. To Trahearne… he feels like Orr _should_ be worth all of Tyria. He wants it to be worth it.

_Help me,_ Trahearne thinks to the Dream. _I don't know what to do._ Emotion is outweighing reason right now, and this is not something Trahearne is used to. 'Almost' and 'nearly' - they are words Trahearne has rarely had occasion to use before, except in hope. His life had been simple before, now that he compares it to this alternate future possibility. His logic, emotions, life's purpose and end goals had all lined up and pointed in the same direction before.

_Save Tyria… or Orr._ It is simply not a decision that Trahearne is qualified to make. This is a decision for the Dream. That realization frees him, slightly. He doesn't know what to do, and he admits it. _Now what?_

Trahearne suddenly realizes that he has been absentmindedly watching the asura with their task for quite some time, warring with his own introversion, ultimate goals, and indecision for quite some time. _I'd been working on this Pact project in lieu of a full commitment anyway,_ Trahearne reminds himself. _I just should talk to them and get it over with, and not waste any more time._

As if a person could waste time thinking. It's an odd concept, really, but Trahearne is balancing on the edge between his thought-filled, slow-paced life of study and the fast, quickly-moving life of action and leadership, where he can't spend hours pondering a single question. He'd have to make the decision and hope it was the right one. _There is no 'hope it's the right one' with this question. If it's the last one I ever think about this long, it still will receive due consideration._

"Trahearne?" a voice says, startling him. Trahearne turns around to see Fiona, who is looking a bit nervous. Fiona goes on, "I wanted to ask you something, if you don't mind."

"Go ahead," Trahearne replies curiously.

"Well, I - don't tell Tiffany, okay?"

"I - what?" Trahearne asks slowly. He doesn't know what Fiona would want to keep from Tiffany, but he does know that Fiona likely has her sister's best interests at heart. "All right," he agrees after a moment.

"I'm scared," Fiona says, her voice so low it's almost a whisper. Trahearne blinks in surprise, but Fiona keeps talking. "My… my Wyld Hunt is… it's terrifying. I don't know what to do. I'm not ready for this kind of responsibility. It's like the fate of the whole world is on _me_. I'm not… I'm not even…" she glances at the nearby asura, and lowers her voice again. "I'm not even a native Tyrian, and I… I… well I thought I'd ask you about it, since you also have a terrifying Wyld Hunt."

Trahearne frowns slightly in thought. "Your Wyld Hunt is… what did you say your Hunt was?"

Fiona laughs a bit nervously. "Well, I _said_ my Wyld Hunt was the same as Tiffany's, but really… but really I'm supposed to support her and make sure she's okay, physically _and_ emotionally, since I'm the only other person who was with her back in our home world that's still with her and knows what she's thinking and knows all our secrets."

Trahearne nods. "I see. Tiffany's Hunt is to bring down all the dragons, right?"

"Specifically by getting the Pact running," Fiona explains. "It's… complicated. But Tiffany has all this responsibility, and she was already wanting to kill all the dragons and had some ideas, so her Hunt is perfect for her, but now I'm responsible for making sure it all works out, and… well Tiffany's not perfect, and she already messed up when Deborah died, and I don't… I'm not ready for this."

Trahearne stares at her for a moment. "I should've just stayed in Orr," he says finally. "I'm not ready for any of this either." Really, he should have thought of this. He isn't the only one with hard choices. Thorns, and Fiona doesn't even have an alternate option. Going home probably isn't on the table. He realizes that he isn't feeling any of Fiona's emotions through the Dream… _no wait, I am, but they're already almost the exact same as my own._

"And I should've just stayed at home," Fiona says with a wry smile. "There's nothing for it, I suppose, it's just scary. Who's gonna die next if we mess up, you know - and the odds are it'll be someone close to us."

Trahearne ponders this for a moment. "Have you thought of the fact that Tiffany might be feeling the same?"

Fiona sighs and squeezes her eyes shut. She's actually _trembling._ Trahearne frowns in concern. "I _know_ she's feeling the same because I can feel it," she whispers. "She's even more distraught over Deborah dying than - " she cuts off suddenly and shakes her head. "I can feel it," she says again. "And I still… I don't know how to help her. I'm not… an emotional type of person."

"I'm not, either," Trahearne reassures her. Most of what he knows is that emotions tend to make people mess up more often than not, but he can't say that. "But I think we're more emotional than we realize. You're terrified of your Hunt, and I'm trying to figure out… similar things. We just have to trust the Dream that it gave us Wyld Hunts uniquely suited to our capacity to fulfill them."

"I just… I don't want anyone to die."

"I'm afraid of failing, too. But that doesn't mean you aren't going to try, does it?"

Fiona sighs. "Yeah, I know. I just… don't want the responsibility, I guess. The pressure."

"The Dream _understands,_" Trahearne tells her earnestly. "It's not going to be angry at you if you fail. I think the Wyld Hunt, in many cases, is as much teaching as it is the necessity of doing the task. To face such responsibility, to master the fear, to learn from each failure and eventually complete the Hunt - that, I think, is equally as important to the Dream as the task itself."

Fiona contemplates that for a moment, and finally nods. "Yeah, that makes sense. I understand. Thanks, Trahearne."

"I am glad to have been of assistance," Trahearne says with a smile. "One question, though, if you don't mind - why don't you want Tiffany to know? I'm sure she'd understand."

Fiona bites her lip. "I… I'm not exactly sure. It was more of an instinctive thing, you know. And it might create unnecessary friction if she knew that my purpose for existing is to take care of her."

Trahearne blinks. "A Wyld Hunt is not your 'reason for existence,'" he points out with a frown. "It's a test, a trial, the completion of which marks an important milestone… in human terms, it would be similar to a rite of passage, an ordeal which signifies that you are a fully-grown sylvari."

"But not all sylvari _have_ Hunts, right?" Fiona asks, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Precisely," Trahearne points out. "If a Wyld Hunt is your reason for existence, then why is it that so many native sylvari don't have any? No. But to answer your question, that is because those of us with a Wyld Hunt are lucky in that we know how to serve the world. Those without have a different test - that of initiative, seeing what needs to be done and doing it - or if, seeing nothing, to actively search out a way in which to help. I, and Caithe, and you and your sister - our trial is that of perseverance and hard work."

Fiona nods thoughtfully. "Okay, that makes sense. Thanks again." She smiles. "I think I understand the Dream itself much better now."

"The Dream is a vast personality, Fiona. Even I know very little about it."

Fiona nods solemnly. "Yes, I quite agree. Probably part of the adventure of life is getting to know it better. Sylvari are still young, I suppose, so that isn't quite so evident yet, but in our world, the Dream has been around for two thousand years, and more before that if you count it's previous form. People have made it their life's work to know our Dream. And they have been rewarded with wisdom, but nobody can be said to really know it."

Trahearne nods, and they stand in silence for a moment. Trahearne contemplates asking her about his problem. _She did show up right after I asked the Dream for help,_ he reflects.

"Do you think," Fiona says suddenly, "that things all work out right in the end?"

"What do you mean?" Trahearne asks curiously.

"Well, that's a promise in our Holy Book - the Word of God - that all things work out for the good of those that love him. I was wondering if it's the same in Tyria."

"I do not think the Dream has made any such promise," Trahearne replies carefully, "but it does seem to watch over its own. It sent you when I asked for help."

"Oh? Help with what?"

Trahearne sighs. "I find myself torn," he says quietly. "The ghost of King Reza said that if we kill Zhaitan, 'Corruption will be unchained, and Orr will fail faster.' And yet, if Zhaitan is not defeated, it will take over some other place, or re-corrupt Orr, and, in any case, it _won't_ be defeated - at least not in any timely manner, as it seems to be making its move _now_ \- and lives will be lost. I feel like the Dream is leading me in two opposing directions - I cannot do both. You and Tiffany seem to have a unique knowledge of the Dream - do you have any suggestions?"

Fiona blinks. "Well, yeah," she says, almost as if it was obvious. "I'd say - oh no, wait." Fiona pauses for a moment. "Yeah, ouch, that's a hard choice." She frowns. "But I'm biased anyway, you probably shouldn't ask me."

"Biased which way?" Trahearne wonders.

"Um… both ways? I haven't got any more of a clue than you," Fiona grimaces. "See, I know what I would've said a few days ago, but that was before Deborah died."

"How does that make a difference?"

Fiona pauses. "Can I say that that's a secret? Mostly Tiffany's secret. But the basics is that it made me realize how out-of-control things are, and we can't just assume everything will be alright automatically. Tiffany might have a different opinion, but… " she shrugs helplessly. "I don't know."

Trahearne nods. "I understand. You are the sisters who managed to pretend to be native Tyrians for - what, two Seasons now? I would assume, before anything else, that the Dream brought you here for a reason. You are special, both of you, and not just because you're honorary sylvari." _To the extent that Mother calls you my sisters._ Which, Trahearne has to admit, isn't nearly so strange as it had been when he first heard it.

"You know Tiffany would faint if she heard that last bit," Fiona grins. "She's always wanted to be part sylvari, and being acknowledged as such by the great and mighty Trahearne would probably kill her."

Trahearne blinks, and chooses to pretend not to have heard that.

"_But anyway,_" Fiona says, "why don't you ask the Dream about it?"

"Well, I did… and then you showed up."

"Oh, well…" Fiona frowns. "I suppose I'll have to think harder, then." She pauses for a moment. "Maybe… maybe you should ask yourself if you're not just afraid? I mean, like, I felt like I didn't want to do _my_ Hunt, and then I realized I was just terrified and blaming the Dream for it. Maybe you're scared of something and you're subconsciously blaming this hard decision. I'm not saying you _are_ scared, it's just a thought."

Trahearne frowns thoughtfully. "I'll… be sure to consider that," he says slowly. "Thank you for your help."

"No problem!" Fiona replies cheerfully. "Now, I noticed before I approached you that you were staring at those asura. Any particular reason?"

"I had considered linking the Pact's base to the Order's headquarters via asura gate," Trahearne explains, hoping he doesn't have to explain his reasons for hesitating. "I was distracted by the question of my Wyld Hunt."

"Oh, okay," Fiona nods. "You think about that and I'll talk to the asura. As the Priory Magister who negotiated one of those extra gates and therefore is a customer they want to please." She smiles in a predatory way. "If they're rude or something we can always ask Izza, she's Dynamics and could probably help us. She's also Priory," she adds at Trahearne's questioning glance. "I met her on my mission in Sorrow's Embrace." She turns away and waves at the asura. "Hi mister Krewe-leader! I was wondering some things about gates."

As Fiona talks cheerfully to the asura in charge of the krewe, Trahearne ponders Fiona's words about fear, and pokes at his decision. _Do I leave Orr, and fight Zhaitan… or do I stay with my task and doom Tyria?_

The new perspective - or perhaps the break from his circular train of thought - almost instantly makes the question clear. He cannot, in good conscience, leave Tyria to the predations of the Elder Dragons, merely to grasp at the chance that Orr might flourish once more.

It is a bitter truth, even now - when Trahearne knows he has not fully grasped the implications yet - and he realizes that this is the fear he felt - fear of change, of responsibility, of his choice spelling eternal corruption for Orr. He, Trahearne, whose solemn task it is to heal, not condemn. He had dedicated himself to the renewal of life, to the preservation of hope.

He looks toward the mouth of the harbor, where some wreckage of sunken Dead Ships is visible above the waves. _But this is hope. This is life. This is victory over a previously unassailable foe. Slaying Zhaitan will be a symbolic victory - I will have overcome Corruption, despite its lingering hold on Orr. That will have to be enough._

Trahearne had long feared the spreading of Zhaitan's corruption for its own sake - quite apart from his desire to cleanse Orr. Now he has the chance to prevent it… but he had never thought that it would come at such a tremendous price. Orr is his home, his responsibility, his care. He had spent his whole life on it, and now its fate is to wither away. _Yet if the Dream wills it, it shall be so._

* * *

"Thank you for coming," Trahearne tells the Pact Champions and General Almorra, along with Preceptor Doern - whom Riel had left to be in charge of the Whisperers in the field - and Magister Wynnet, who is representing Gixx.

"We know we're taking the fight to Zhaitan, Marshal, but we don't know how," General Almorra points out. It had been Warmaster Efut that came up with his title of Marshal - the little asura is very proper, and had probably needed _some_ form of address to use - and it had stuck. Similarly to calling the alliance 'the Pact,' actually.

"That is part of what we'll be discussing today," Trahearne assures her. "First, however, I'd like to introduce you to the Pact Champions, the elite strike team of the Pact. They're drawn from all three of the Orders, but I believe they'll all be able to work together."

Doern, Wynnet, and Almorra each nod their approval. Only Doern can see the aura surrounding Tiffany and Fiona, and he raises no objections to the fact that two-thirds of the Order's representation in this group is technically undercover… even though Trahearne suspects that everyone here knows about them.

"Will the term 'Pact Champion' - or just 'Champion' - be used as a form of address?" Doern asks.

"And as a title," Trahearne confirms with a nod. "The Pact Champions will report directly to me when they are operating as a group, and the rest of the time they will be in charge of managing important portions of the Pact, such as communications, scouting, and supplies. However, they will still identify as members of their respective Orders, and they should be free for short periods if you need them." He _really_ doesn't want them mad at him for stealing their most effective members. And he hopes he doesn't send them to their deaths.

"You know how to think, Marshal," Wynnet observes.

"It's a good start," General Almorra acknowledges.

"It carries a tone of confidence and assurance, and puts us on a level with the dragons," Doern points out, clearly having noticed the parallels in the naming. "It will be a great boon to morale."

Trahearne nods. "Yes, that was the thought behind it. In addition, I know of an abandoned fortress on Terzetto Bay that can serve as a headquarters. It is currently in ruins, but that can be remedied."

"No argument here, Marshal," Doern notes. "It's a smart call. Count the Order of Whispers in."

"It's a wise choice," Wynnet observes. "The Priory will also follow you to the Pact's new headquarters, and on into Orr."

Trahearne grimaces slightly. He is still none to happy about the fact that he'd had to stop pursuing his Wyld Hunt.

"I can see your knowledge of Orr is coming in handy," General Almorra points out. "The Vigil is with you."

Trahearne nods with a touch of relief, as well as some incredulity. He _is_ an untested leader, and he knows that the other Orders - especially the Vigil - will be watching his every move. And he had, apparently, just passed the first test. He hadn't quite expected that, even with the Dream's insistence that he is the person for the job. "I've decided to call this fortress Fort Trinity, in the spirit of our new alliance," he tells them.

"You mentioned repairs," Doern points out. "How are you planning to do that?"

"The Pact cannot move immediately," Trahearne reminds him. "It will be at least a week before we can set out, and in that time, I believe an advance team can arrive and begin repairs, and the fort will be ready for use by the time we arrive."

"Who will direct this advance team?" Wynnet queries.

"Pact Champion Sieran, I believe, has the capability to carry out this task," Trahearne tells her.

"_Sieran?_" Vriré sputters, drawing all eyes toward her. "But - she's not used to being in a position of authority by herself!"

"That is true," Wynnet observes. "Steward Gixx always sends her with a backup."

Trahearne wonders - not for the first time - how _he_ was chosen to lead the Pact with so much on the line. "You're trusting _me_ with this alliance," Trahearne reminds the Magister with a wry grimace, "and Sieran has at least had _some_ experience." He glances at Sieran - who looks incredulous - and raises an incredulous eyebrow himself. He quickly tamps down the feeling, drawing on the Dream to re-center himself, but not without some trepidation - if _Sieran_ considers _herself_ unsuited to the task…

"You could just send someone else if you can only spare one person," Sieran suggests.

Trahearne frowns. This _is _an important, large undertaking, but it cannot easily go astray, and Sieran needs the confidence that being successful in something this important can bring. He can feel _that_ quite clearly. He sends a prayer of thanks to the Dream for the surge of confidence, before speaking aloud again. "Pact Champion Sieran will lead the team," he says firmly. "I have already assembled them, and the best architects and builders in the Pact will be doing the repairs. They will set out as soon as possible by ship."

Wynnet looks skeptical, but nods.

"By ship?" Doern queries with a frown. "Zhaitan has already sent two armies by ship - Sieran and her team might never arrive. And where you'll find a captain whose ship won't flounder in Orr's treacherous waters…"

Trahearne suppresses a smile. "If my calculations are correct, Zhaitan has used all its resources battling us. Any army it sends now would be without a champion and substantially weaker, not to mention a flawed strategy. Despite appearances this far from Orr, Zhaitan is smarter than to just throw troops at an unwinnable battle. I expect its tactics to change drastically. As for the treacherous waters of Orr, the _Sorrow's Prowler_ will be leading the other ships, and they have made the trip many times."

"But who would _go_ to Orr?" Wynnet asks skeptically.

"Me," Trahearne answers simply, a note of amusement in his voice.

"Oh, er… right."

"Sieran and the _Sorrow's Prowler_ will set sail tomorrow, and we will begin preparations to make the journey by land," Trahearne continues. "Please prepare your troops to move - Zhaitan will not wait."

* * *

Marshal Trahearne had given Vriré the task of figuring out the route the Pact will take by land. It is important to figure out before they set out in a few days.

Vriré doesn't have much experience with how long it takes a large number of people to move - she's used to small, fast-moving groups that can cover much ground in a day. At least she knows that there is a difference. So she'd called in someone who might know how to help.

"Lightbringer Tybalt, at your service!"

Vriré pauses a moment, glancing toward the door. _That's odd. I haven't seen him out of Agent Kennan's presence since they met each other - same for Initiate Demmi Beetlestone._ Vriré shakes the thought and turns to the Lightbringer. "You used to serve in the Iron Legion, correct?" Vriré asks.

"Yes," the charr says with a nod, although he sounds slightly sour. "What of it?"

"I need to know what the difference is between the movement of an army and that of a warband." Vriré gestures to the map on the table. "I'm plotting a route for this new alliance to take."

Lightbringer Tybalt moves over to peer at the map. "Why, yes. The most important consideration is having supplies to last us, and supply lines to sustain us once we arrive. You've marked Fort Concordia as supply pickup, but that's nearly halfway there, and I doubt a lone fort will be able to supply an army for the rest of the journey."

"It's the last allied outpost," she points out. "They're going to have to."

"Then I would advise two things; sending runners ahead now, to alert them, and preparing to bring or supply yourselves mostly before you arrive there. A mission out to the pirates, over here, would be valuable. Other than that, we're facing the usual devastation caused by the movement of an army. In Ascalon, they're all part of the same military and, at some level, under the same authorities, so it's not much of an issue. But do you want to camp us outside of some poor norn steading demanding supplies?"

"So how do you suggest I deal with it?" Vriré snaps, nettled.

"I suggest you ask either the Vigil or the Seraph. They both have experience with warfare through lands they don't want to pillage and devastate. Other than that, I'm afraid I can't help you."

"Alright then," she says slowly, glancing at Tybalt and taking in his A-Key aura again. "In a hypothetical situation, suppose we _had_ all the supplies we need. How would we plot the movement of our troops?"

"It's all defined by supplies, Lightbringer," he repeats. Vriré frowns. _There's definitely something different about him. Far more self-confidence._ He goes on, "we're going to pass through Concordia for two reasons: it's on the way and we'll need supplies. If we were, however, to start at Lion's Arch and go past the Chantry of Secrets - rather than the Durmand Priory - we'd be able to move by land down to this mountain pass here, near Mount Maelstrom, and bypass Fort Concordia completely. It would even be shorter, at least as per distance traveled. But since we'll need the supplies, we have to go through Concordia. This eliminates half the routes we could have taken - those that go through the flooded islands past the Chantry of Secrets."

"What do you mean, 'as per distance traveled?'" Vriré asks.

"Simply that, if we go through the shorter distance route and go around Fort Concordia, it'll take longer than the route we are going to take. It's flooded and full of islands; we'd have to go through or around swamps, cross rivers, and find a place to camp each night. That might be easy enough with a small group, but with an army it's nigh impossible. We'll need to stick to hard ground as much as possible." He looks over the map again. "It looks fairly straightforward until we move past Concordia and come to the first pass. That's when we'll have to pick a route among the rocky areas surrounding Mount Maelstrom. The most important part is plotting how long it'll take so we can plan our supply drops."

"Could we use choppers for that?" she asks.

The charr pauses for a moment. "Yeah, sure. Now, how quickly we'll move depends on how big our force is. All three Orders together is going to take us ages - optimistically, I'd guess about three weeks"

"Three weeks!" Vriré exclaims. "We don't have that kind of time!"

Lightbringer Tybalt shrugs. "We'll have to have it. We can't move any quicker - and if we did, we'd arrive at Fort Trinity worn out, exhausted, and some possibly mutinous and resentful of the whole plan. We'd certainly be extremely vulnerable to an ambush if Zhaitan decided to take this opportunity to attack."

Vriré opens her mouth to reply, but can't find any words. The Lightbringer is right. "Okay then, what causes this big delay?"

"Consider breaking camp in the morning," Lightbringer Tybalt says simply. "We'll need to eat, pack up, prepare to leave, and then stay in formation - and that includes the last man waiting for the ones ahead of him to get going, which usually takes _ticks_. We're limited by the speed of our slowest unit. We need pack animals to carry our supplies, which includes fortifications - that takes time. The animals may be difficult to control. We'll need groups of people familiar with animals just to manage them."

"Can't we just take the shorter route, if we're using choppers?"

"No, that would at least double the time, if not more. Terrain ups the difficulty - and time spent dealing with the difficulty - exponentially. And don't forget morale. All this, and my _most optimistic_ estimate is three weeks. If we get there that soon, I'll bite my tail. Four or five weeks is more realistic, and it could take up to six or seven if things are bad enough. And that's before we know where our supplies are coming from."

"Remind me again why we teamed up with the Vigil?"

"Hey, cheer up! The worst that will happen is we fend off some of Zhaitan's counterattacks. It's not going to send another force at Lion's Arch when we're marching toward Orr. Trahearne's confident, and so you should be, too."

As Lightbringer Tybalt leaves the tent, all Vriré can think is that this is going to be a nightmare. _Maybe after this I can do something more sensible, like directing the scouts and spies._

* * *

Sieran is nervous. She is in charge of repairing what will become the Pact's headquarters - without a supervisor. Gixx had always sent a co-Magister with her when she is on group missions, and Sieran had become dependent on this backup.

At least she has a few days before the ships actually arrive at Fort Trinity before she has to make any real choices. The ships are being guided along their route by a ship called the _Sorrow's Prowler_, captained by a norn named Seal. All this information is in her files in her cabin; she is the commander of this tiny fleet, and, for convenience's sake, the _Sorrow's Prowler_ is the 'flagship,' the one she is currently aboard.

As they set out from Lion's Arch and pass Claw Island, Sieran can only hope that Trahearne's trust in her is not misplaced. The Dream's ever-present, reassuring calm soothing her, and Sieran takes a deep breath. "It'll all be cherry," she reminds herself.

Sieran is perfectly aware that she is not a very good candidate for being a Pact Champion, and wonders how the group was chosen. The other Pact Champions are likely going on awesome adventures; and the thought suddenly occurs to her that she may have been sent to oversee the repairs at Fort Trinity to get her and her often silly blunders out of the way. Or maybe to prevent anybody from seeing how incapable she really is at in-charge stuff?

Repairing a fort is hardly what Sieran would call an adventure - she would much rather be with Fiona and Trahearne, fighting Risen - and it also saddles her with _responsibility_. Responsibility is something she had avoided for a long time - mostly because when she got any, there was always a backup, and she would rather be alone or with a single partner than in charge of something that she isn't really in charge of.

Of course, now she realizes that she would rather be alone or with Fiona than be in charge at all, because being in charge is terrifying. The idea that she could be a Champion of the Pact is terrifying - the whole Pact depending on her and trusting her to do her job? That is more responsibility than anything Sieran had ever done before.

So maybe they are actually doing her a favor by sending her out on the ships - keeping her away from most of the Pact and letting her be in charge of a relatively small thing first. _A relatively small thing?_ Sieran wonders. _Wherever did I get that idea? This has to be the biggest group I've been in charge of since… since never!_

"Pact Champion Sieran?" a voice asks, and Sieran blinks at the burly norn addressing her. "We got a choice o' two routes t' be goin' on - we can go through the islands south of Lion's Arch, or we can sail 'round 'em. Neither route's faster."

"Does it matter which one we take, then?" Sieran wonders.

"Aye - the islands've got pirates all over 'em," the norn - Captain Seal - informs her. "Normally the _Sorrow's Prowler_ sails outside o' those, but if'n I know Trahearne, this Pact'll be big on protectin' people."

Sieran sighs. _Does this need to be decided exactly right now?_

"So, Champion," Seal tells her, "the map's clear - there ain't no middle way by sea t' get t' Orr, got it? I've captained this ship fer near thirty years, and I know tha way to Orr by heart, and the _Sorrow's Prowler_ be the quickest mast from ol' Lion's Arch to Orr by my route. There's two things Trahearne wants, so far as I know; and one of 'em's speed. Th' other's more o' a personality thing than what he told me just recently, but 'e's always wanted to do something 'bout those pirates, because if'n they weren't there it _would_ be faster. But I don't know which 'e wants this time, so it's up to you. So tell me; pirates or open sea?"

Sieran hasn't got the slightest clue. She isn't the sort of person to decide such things! She has no backup Magister to get help from, and she's supposed to make a decision based on what Trahearne wants. By the Pale Tree, she can't do this! Why had she ever accepted being a Pact Champion in the first place?

Seal frowns at her for a moment, then huffs. "Nevermind," he tells her, and, shaking his head, turns and strides away. Sieran hears him shouting at Vedd to take them through the normal route, and wonders miserably what else could go wrong. She would like to just let Seal be her backup Magister, but she doesn't even know him - he isn't even a part of the Pact, much less the Priory! - and he can't be of any help in repairing Fort Trinity.

How _that_ job is going to go, Sieran dreads finding out.

* * *

Trahearne has put Fiona in charge of communications. She is the bridge between Vriré's scouting department and Tiffany's domain of dealing with potential threats and Forgal's expertise in keeping the troops in line. She is also - joy of all joys - the backup intermediary between the heads of the Orders, when they're being too 'rambunctious' for Trahearne to deal with. This, Fiona decides, is because she is a Magister of the Priory, an Agent of the Order of Whispers, and an honorary member of the Vigil. They all know who she is and the Vigil and Priory at least both respect her. And the Order might also respect her for gaining the respect of the other two prior to any alliance.

When the Pact sets out from Lion's Arch on Scion 5, nearly a week after the Battle of Lion's Arch, Fiona's main occupation becomes more heavily integrated with Vriré's scouting department. She is supposed to send Tiffany and/or Forgal the relevant results of the reports, so that they can deal with threats or raid a pirate haven or whatever else Vriré sends them to do.

She rather enjoys her job - she is interacting with people more than she really had before now, what with Tiffany's introversion and Sieran's 'lets go have an adventure by ourselves!' mentality. Fiona is also required to remember - or at least keep a record of - where they are and what they are approaching, so that she can tell Vriré where to send new scouts.

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

_Yeeeee!_ I know Tybalt is one of the most-loved characters of all time in the game, and somehow he doesn't feature prominently in my story. Sorry. So we get scenes like this! There'll be a few more. And yes, his final realization in the game (that he isn't a coward and is actually very brave) does happen. And yes it happens off-screen. (He put himself in harm's way to save Kennan's life, and it happened during the whole Lion's Arch fiasco from _Trinity Rising_.)

Also, apples! Have I ever mentioned how much I, personally, like apples? When I first encountered Tybalt I was like _oohhh, this guy also likes apples!_ It's hilarious. (I still like Forgal better, though. Sorry not sorry.)

Trahearne. Oh my freaky I had _so much trouble_ writing those bits! (And I also keep forgetting that nobody except me knows the names of all my scenes. Sigh. Maybe I should add them in italics or something at the start of each one… neh. Not like anyone will remember them anyway!) But yes, Trahearne was HARD. And Fiona was… hard in a different way. Freaky though.

Personally I love the part where Trahearne decides to pretend not to have heard Fiona calling him 'the great and legendary Trahearne.' That is absolutely something he would do (especially since Fiona showed no signs of intending to elaborate) and you won't convince me otherwise.

Also yes, I am rambling on and on about every scene in this chapter because the real-Fiona doesn't want to talk and nobody else wants to either, and I have to talk to _somebody_ about these things or my brain will implode and there will be no more writing.

I was in the middle of writing chapter eighteen or something and felt like I was done, so I decided to write this before Monday happened, and now I feel like writing that again, so yay!

Okay I'll let you review now. (Yes Leon, that includes you. I have noticed a distinct lack lately. Don't forget that reviews fuel my creative juices and make my days wonderful.) To the rest of you, there's also the option to use the code HwKw8vy (and yes I have the code memorized by now) to join the Tassof Friends server on Discord.


	6. Chapter 5: Fear, Fire, Foes

THE UNBROKEN

* * *

Summary: Should I even bother with these anymore? Does anyone read them?

* * *

Chapter five: Fear, Fire, Foes

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

Hi there once again! Things actually start happening in this chapter, rather than all this boring talking that's been happening the rest of the time.

Also yes the chapter title is from the _Lord of the Rings_. (_Fear, fire, foes! Awake! Awake!_) I've always liked that part.

_**Okay, here's the story now:**_

* * *

On the ninth day of the Scion Season, Fiona - happening to have nothing important to do - is sitting on her bedroll playing with Protection, and testing to see if she can summon it and Deception at the same time.

Tiffany walks in - having just returned from a mission - and sits on her own bedroll. "That was a headache," she declares.

"Oh?" Fiona asks, looking up. She blinks as she realizes that Tiffany does not actually have a headache.

"I went to investigate the pirates on Jetsam Isle, brought the Spar Warband with me," Tiffany explains. "We arrived to find them all fighting amongst themselves already. You'll never guess why."

"Why?" Fiona asks dutifully, with a small smile that is really Tiffany's.

"A quaggan who didn't want to live in fear anymore was taking them over."

Fiona grins. "Yeah, see? Even the quaggans know how to fight oppression. What did you do?"

"Tried to get him to join the Vigil," Tiffany replies promptly.

Fiona snorts. "You're hilarious."

"He didn't want to, though. He was going to take over the pirates and make them peaceful and not attack anybody. Typical quaggan, you know, not wanting to fight. So we helped him beat up the pirates and made them listen to him. It might not last long - you know pirates - but he has a bunch of friends to help if the pirates try anything."

Fiona nods.

"Tiffany, can I talk to you for a minute?" Forgal asks, poking his head in. He looks unimaginably disgruntled.

Fiona inhales sharply and silently, and glances away, blinking back tears. Forgal's presence never ceases to remind her of Deborah. _He was the one who was supposed to die. He was there. He __knew__ he was the one who was supposed to die. But he - and Tiffany - they both let Deborah go and die. And be Risen._

"Sure," Tiffany replies, sounding slightly surprised. "Come on in. What about?"

Fiona flinches at the feelings emanating from Tiffany. Surprise, but warm welcome and friendship, blanketed by a curious layer of concern. Fiona shudders and weaves illusion around herself, to make her less noticeable. She wraps the Deception closer like a blanket. She's worried about Forgal.

"The Order of Whispers," Forgal grumbles, coming in. "They're _everywhere_."

_Stop stop stop stop,_ Fiona thinks frantically, squeezing her eyes shut. Forgal has some bad history with the Order. Asvor. He'd attacked Tiffany over Asvor, that's how bad it is. It's all springing up again. _Stop. He killed Deborah._ For a moment, the concern and worry vanishes as she thinks her own thoughts and feels her own feelings. For a second, she's free - and the absence of Tiffany's thought and emotion leaves her refreshingly alone. She releases a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

But the next moment, it's back - the feeling like Forgal has been injured somehow, the _are you alright?_ feeling, the urge to figure out what's wrong and help. _No, no. I don't care if he needs help. He's not getting it from me._ This solves most of the problem. The feeling is still there, but less like feeling and more like knowledge. _So I have to be willing to act like a selfish brat if I want to keep my individuality. Well too bad, I'm allowed to be selfish over my free will._ Fiona just hopes it doesn't extend to the rest of her personality.

"By design, I think," Tiffany points out. Fiona blinks, scrambling to recall what she is replying to. "Didn't we already have this conversation?" A light tone, slightly teasing, but with the undercurrent of gravity and a touch of sternness.

_Stop. If I don't know what she's saying I can't react to it._

"Yes," Forgal sighs. "I just… I need to vent about it for a minute."

_Nnoo,_ Fiona wails mentally. _Just stop, please stop, go away, I don't want to hear any more. I don't want to feel sorry for him. I don't want to…_ Tiffany is also almost half-dreading hearing what comes next, but because she's worried about him. She's concerned about his well-being, she wishes he weren't going through this. _I'm fine with it. I'm not Tiffany. He can be as miserable as he likes._

Grasping at straws now, Fiona continues, trying to convince herself. _I don't care about him, he's just Tiffany's friend, I never really knew him that well, he should've died, he killed Deborah - I don't care about him, he killed Deborah._ Fiona breathes a small sigh of relief as the emotion reforms into mere knowledge. Knowledge and guilt, because it is not real. She _does_ care, just a little, and leaving someone to deal with this fate is not the person she wants to be. But she repeats the mantra - _he killed Deborah, I don't care about him _\- as the norn goes on talking.

"Might help. Might not. It's just so… _stressful_, being around the Order all the time. Knowing we're allied with them. It sets me on edge. I'm constantly nervous and hypersensitive. Like they could stab me in the back at any time. I know the term is used at the Order all the time, but I mean it. In the same room with an agent, I'm constantly glancing over my shoulder. It's not even that I'm worried about my other allies - it's like they're out to get me, specifically, but everyone else is safe."

Tiffany frowns. _I don't care I don't care I don't care._ "But - "

"No!" Forgal snarls. "I _know_ how illogical it is. I _know_ it doesn't make any sense. That part bothers me, too. That I should be able to trust them to do what's best for the Pact, that they won't assassinate me. But I can't shake the feeling, and it's driving me insane. Making me question my own reality, sometimes. Am I _sure_ they won't. Or am I _sure_ I'm feeling this way. Maybe it's _all_ fake. I don't know. I just don't know."

Fiona tries to shrink, fighting away the emotion, the guilt at trying not to care, the fact that she _should_ care, she shouldn't be blaming Forgal this much - _stop, stop, stop. I'm trying to maintain my own sense of self right now, other stuff can come after!_

Tiffany gives a small gasp. "Oh. You don't have your anchor anymore. You don't have Blackwing to orient yourself with. How long - ?"

"A little less than five years," Forgal tells her with a sigh. "She'd been with me since I was a brash teenager."

"So late?" Tiffany asks, startled. Fiona can deal with 'startled.' She calms her breathing. This is safe territory, stuff Fiona doesn't understand. She can handle such a mundane feeling as surprise.

"Not for norn. I had to figure out that I was an individual before I could bond with another person. Happens within the first two years for humans, but norn have to separate themselves from the Spirits a bit first, which takes maturity and time." _Lore. It's just lore_, Fiona notes with relief._ Flat, emotionless lore, unless you're Tiffany, but I don't understand it and so it can't bother me. _Forgal sighs again, and goes on in a somber tone, "Blackwing tempered me a bit - she was always wiser than I was, even when we were young - and I've always felt lucky to have such a perspective on life. Raven's wisdom is no light matter. I've missed her, since she died."

"Oh… Forgal, I… " Tiffany sounds slightly lost. Fiona bites her lip. Tiffany knows what Forgal is feeling - grief and loss. _She's being empathetic at him. Why does she have to go around empathizing at people when I'm in the room and can understand it enough to be dragged along with her?_

Tiffany goes on slowly, sadly, "you know I'm always here if you want to talk."

_Tiffany is, I'm not,_ Fiona tells herself firmly, fighting the sadness.

"I know." Forgal sighs. "I'm sorry for bothering you with all this, right after you lost your sister…"

Fiona tenses. _How dare he, when he's the one who should have died? Even mention her sadly when he could have prevented her death?_ Fiona closes her eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath, trying not to picture Deborah's Risen form laughing as Tiffany cut her down.

Fiona shivers, tries not to guess in Tiffany's direction, but she is feeling all the same things, with even more intensity. Except the part with Forgal.

"No, no," Tiffany says quickly. "It's alright." Fiona squirms. Thinking of Deborah without also thinking of Forgal is almost impossible, but Tiffany manages it and it feels wrong. _It's not me,_ she howls at the Dream. _Why do I feel things that aren't my own?_

It's because of her Wyld Hunt, that's what it is. How can she help Tiffany if she doesn't understand her sister's emotions? How can she help if she can't stand any other viewpoint than her own?

_Well help me then,_ Fiona retorts. _You gave me this Hunt, and I apparently can't do it right._ Except that it's her own stubborn selfishness that is in her way. _And I suppose there's no way to fix __that__, either,_ she grumbles sarcastically, _or isn't that the whole point of living, to stand through trials and become more holy and righteous?_

The Dream responds positively to the last statement, effectively asking _so, __do__ you want to stand through trials and become more holy and righteous?_

Fiona mulls it over for a moment. She doesn't feel like it, but that's probably the aforementioned 'stubborn selfishness' talking. And she'd had a taste of what doing it _right_ was like, back in Lion's Arch. She does like her Wyld Hunt, and see its necessity - the proof lies in front of her, with Tiffany and Forgal still talking and confiding in each other, the feelings muted with the Dream keeping her centered.

_Yes, let's do that,_ she thinks at the Dream, wondering what trials will be sent her way, and how long it will take. She shakes off the sudden feeling of uneasiness that had come over her and quietly portals out of the tent.

* * *

On the fourteenth day of the Scion Season, Fiona reviews Vriré's chosen course to make sure they are on schedule. She rather enjoys her job, now - she is interacting with people more than she really had before now, what with Tiffany's introversion and Sieran's 'lets go have an adventure by ourselves!' mentality. Fiona is also required to _remember_ \- or at least keep a record of - where they are and what they are approaching, so that she can tell Vriré where to send new scouts.

Yesterday, the thirteenth day of the Scion Season, they had arrived at Kyesjard Steading - usually empty but for when the norn are holding a moot or fighting tournament down here - and they are due to cross the Gentle River in a few days.

"Hey, Fiona," Leon - one of the dredge liaisons and therefore part of the communications department - speaks up, "Balryvr says that the dredge want to investigate that asuran lab a few days down."

Fiona scans the map on the wall. "Valance Tutory? That's nearly a week away," she points out.

"Yeah, well, I thought it might be a good idea to let you know in advance."

"Great thinking. Balryvr knows they're not hostile, right?"

"I told them," Leon confirms. "In fact, Balryvr seemed interested to see what the asura know, and whether he and they can learn things from each other."

"Great. Just make sure they don't get left behind, alright?"

"Of course. If we stay too long, Kalovsky might get bored and blow something up. The asura wouldn't be too friendly then. Do you know the name of their leader?"

Fiona checks her notes. "Krewe Leader Seesa," she answers.

"Got it," Leon says, giving her a thumbs-up.

* * *

Tiffany wakes up on day 15 of the Scion Season. The Pact's journey toward Orr has been going well so far, and she hears from Fiona that they will be entering more hostile territory soon. Good - trouble can only bring the Pact together to fight.

They are a few days from Fort Concordia, the half-way mark of the journey to Fort Trinity, and Tiffany has not been entirely busy of late, with her job being to oversee and participate in any missions that might need her, but she has been talking to Trahearne, who asks her opinion frequently on things he is concerned about.

Tiffany has the double-duty of making sure the camp packs up and gets moving early. She'd had to figure out how to do that quickly. _I'm sure if I ever go back to earth, Mom and Dad will absolutely love my new organizational skills,_ Tiffany notes with a hint of humor. _We were never on time._ Of course, thinking of her family just reminds her that she can't even talk to them properly anymore, and she probably isn't going back to earth, either.

It is in the evening, after the Pact hast stopped moving for the day, and Tiffany, sitting by the Gentle River, finds herself with nothing to do.

"Hey Tiffany," Fiona notes slowly. "The years are messed up."

Tiffany frowns at Fiona blankly. "Huh?"

"Well, on earth, the year starts at about wintertime, in January, right? In Tyria, it starts with Wintersday, in the beginning of spring."

"That's… disorienting."

"I know! So when do they have, like, Christmas and stuff? Do they have it near the start of winter, or do they have it at the end of the year? It's like three months off! Like right now, it's the last Season of the year, but it's only getting to be about autumn."

Tiffany frowns. "But that would mean… wait a moment, it's the fifteenth, right?"

Fiona blinks. "Wait, it's our birthday today!"

"Well, hang on a moment," Tiffany reminds her twin. "The Tyrian Mad Kings' Day is earth's Halloween. Is that coming up soon?"

Fiona nods. "Yeah… so according to Tyrian calendar, it's our birthday. But wait, is it really? Or would we need to live another three months to actually have been alive for twenty-five years?"

"Well, one way or another, it's going to be off," Tiffany tells her. "We can be three months younger than we say we are, or we can have our birthday in a different place in the year. Or we can have our birthday _six_ months late and put it normal all the years after. Wait, _would_ that fix it?"

"Yeah, I think so," Fiona assures her. "It's not a big deal anyway. Hey, actually, we'll be fifty years old!"

"What," Tiffany says flatly.

"No like, because we've lived twenty-four years in earth _and_ twenty-four years in Tyria," Fiona explains. "So I suppose it would actually be our forty-ninth birthday."

"Now that is _weird_," Tiffany declares. "I am not forty-nine years old."

"True," Fiona agrees. "Now, we have to do something special for our first birthday in Tyria. We don't have anything better to do."

"What're you gonna do, mesmer up a birthday cake and some presents?" Tiffany teases.

"Nah, we're too old for that," Fiona snarks playfully. "Just have a little gathering of our friends. Have some fun-time before things get serious in Orr. I'm sure everybody would appreciate it."

"You do the talking-to-people thing," Tiffany orders. "I'm not good at that."

"Hey, it would involve talking to Trahearne, and Forgal, and Vriré!" Fiona points out.

Tiffany raises her eyebrows. "I'm not falling for that. That's just weird, especially after the whole thing with Forgal's birthday."

"Should we be scared that Forgal will say something terrible to us that he didn't know was bad?" Fiona asks mildly.

"Oh nevermind, you great craze-head," Tiffany sighs. "I'm going to flop down over here by the river and actually get the rest that we're supposed to be getting. I'm an _introvert_, remember, people tire me out."

Fiona rolls her eyes and walks away. Half a tick later, Forgal comes by where Tiffany has 'flopped down.'

"I hear you didn't feel like celebrating your birthday," he tells her humorously. "After the time you told me how distressed you were that you'd ruined mine, I didn't expect this."

"I'm fine with celebrating it," Tiffany says, peering up at him. "I just don't feel like bothering with it just now. You know I hate just randomly walking up to people. Especially when it's to suggest a celebration centered around me. That's just weird."

"I think it's weird that you didn't even realize it was your birthday," Forgal comments, sitting down next to her.

Tiffany shrugs. "We changed universes and calendars. It was bound to happen."

"The fact that you say that like it's an everyday thing," Forgal points out.

Tiffany smirks, sitting up so she doesn't have stare up at the norn quite so much. "Ehh, maybe. You don't know how many fantasy worlds exist just from people's imagination. Like I said, the lack of fantasy stories in Tyria is amusing."

"Ah, well, I found this new author recently," Forgal tells her. "Sieran recommended him to me. His name is Snargle Goldclaw, and he writes… well..."

"Have you read it?" Tiffany asks, curiously.

"Nah, it sounds weird. Even Sieran only read one of his short stories, but authors who write things just for fun are, as you said, rather rare."

"Come on, what're they about?" Tiffany asks.

"Well, the one Sieran told me about was called Destiny's Pledge, and it featured a romantic pair of… Captain Rogan and Tribune Gritlock."

Tiffany stares at Forgal in horror, her mouth open. "Seriously?" she manages finally. "That's just… _weird_."

"What's so weird _you_ don't like it?" Fiona asks.

"Somebody wrote a story featuring the _romanic pair_ of 'Captain Rogan' and 'Tribune Gritlock,'" Tiffany grumbles, making quote marks in the air.

Fiona mouths the names in confusion for a moment, before groaning. "Seriously?"

"Let's not tell Logan," Tiffany tells her.

Fiona laughs nervously. "I'm more worried about Rytlock. How is this guy not dead yet?"

"Don't ask me," Tiffany grimaces. "The whole idea is like the one time when we were talking but you were too tired, and so you got your words mixed up and accidentally mentioned the pairing of Sieran and… uh… why did I mention that again?"

"Who?" Forgal asks curiously.

"Trahearne," Fiona informs him.

Forgal blinks. "Okay, that is weird. That would never actually happen."

"Or _would it?_" Fiona asks with a smirk. "Dun dun dun!"

"You've done lots of stupid things when you were tired," Tiffany points out. "Like the time you pulled down the shower curtain to be a blanket after you'd taken a shower and were too cold if you were wet."

Fiona snorts. "Oh, that one was fun. Really though there just weren't any towels to dry off with."

"But _still!_" Tiffany protests. "You're just really stupid when you're tired," she grins. "Also the time when we were filling up the Pit in the backyard."

"Ooohh, digging the Pit was fun," Fiona nods. "And then it filled up with water and it was dangerous for the littles so we had to fill it up again."

"And you thought up the bright idea for Dad to bury the old hot water heater in it, only it floated. You _both_ proceeded to spend twenty-four hours trying to get it to sink, forgetting that the initial concern was filling up the hole, until Miss Sanity - that's me - rolled her eyes and told you to just give it to the trash company."

"But it was _fun!_" Fiona protests. "The Pit was like six feet deep, and it was like our own swimming pool - _with a hot water heater in it!_"

"What's a hot water heater?" Forgal frowns.

"It's a machine that gets water hot, so you can have hot water," Tiffany explains. "Like for cooking or when you decide you don't want a cold shower today. But ours was old and broken and Dad didn't know what to do with it."

"But… wouldn't a hot water heater be… how can you heat something that's already hot?"

Fiona blinks once. "Well… you're right. I guess it's actually a 'heating hot water hotter heater.'"

"Or, you know," Tiffany says with a smile, "just a _cold_ water heater. Or just a 'water heater.' Those are closer to the truth, you know. But anyway - "

"It was four feet tall and two feet wide and it was a cylinder, and it was half full of water," Fiona informs Forgal. "We all tried to sit on it to make it sink and take on water, but it kept slipping out from under us."

"Yes. It looked like a lot of fun," Tiffany says. "_I_ only got in on the fun once it was my bedtime, and therefore _I_ was tired and making stupid decisions. And all the next day I was tired and making stupid decisions."

"You were?"

"Like playing video games when I had a deadline to meet."

"Video games - like the one about Tyria?" Forgal asks.

"Yes exactly. I was trying to find a hero point that was _also_ a place of power. A challenge one wouldn't work. I tried at least three in Maguuma before I went to that centaur one we were at that one time, Fiona."

"Hero points?" Forgal asks.

"Hard challenges that teach you things so you're a better fighter," Tiffany explains. "There's one at the Vigil Keep - Warmaster Yulia will challenge you to a fight. In the game, you'd get skill points and stuff."

"Wow. That's… wow." Forgal frowns in thought. "Very interesting. And also slightly disturbing."

"Yeah. In the game, she never did one single thing else. Ever. She'd stand there until you came to fight. The same as how, no matter how many times I played the story over again, you always died at Claw Island. I couldn't change the way the story went, because the game wouldn't allow it. The same exact words were said, the same decisions made."

"What did I say?" Forgal wonders.

"I forget exactly - it's been too much time - but something about how the dragon could kill you but it could never defeat your spirit. And how you were super-confident that even if you were only holding off the Risen and the battle wasn't going to be won, that I'd come back and retake the island."

"Speaking of," Fiona says quietly, "what were Deborah's last words?"

"She said we couldn't fight alone," Tiffany replies. "And to tell _everybody_. Also," she adds, "let's talk about something more happy."

"Yes, I completely forgot," Fiona says in realization. "One of the rules of this birthday is no distressing topics."

"There's rules?" Tiffany asks in alarm, flopping back on the grass and covering her eyes. "On a _birthday?_"

"Yep!"

"But it's not a birthday yet! There's only three of us! And Tangwen isn't here! It can't be a birthday if Tangewn isn't here. Wait, does that mean we'll _never_ have a birthday?"

"Distressing topic," Fiona reminds her. "Oh, hi, Leon. Did I ever properly introduce you to my sister?"

"Oh, the great awesome mighty and wonderful Tiffany?" Leon asks. "The one who has killed countless scores of centaurs, Flame Legion, and Risen? I have indeed heard all about her, but I have not yet had the pleasure of actually speaking to her."

Tiffany frowns at the man standing over her. "Fiona, what did you tell him?" she asks with a sense of dread.

"Nothing over-dramatic," Fiona grumbles. "He's just _like that_."

"Oh, hm," Tiffany notes with a frown. She sits up. "Well, hi, I suppose," she says, offering her hand.

"It is nice to meet you, madam!" Leon declares grandly, taking her hand and kissing it.

"Okay," Tiffany says, blinking. "You're the Whispers dredge liaison, right?" She ignores Fiona's exaggerated eye-roll at her ludicrous pronunciation.

"I am," Leon replies. "Apparently we need two liaisons. I am the human-Whispers-Priory-Pact one, and Balryvr is the dredge one. The real liaison is our undying friendship. What do you know about the dredge?"

"Not much," Tiffany shrugs as Fiona motions for him to sit down. "Just that they stole Fiona away for _ages_ when I wanted her to help me fight Flame Legion."

"Am I incapable?" Forgal teases.

"No," Tiffany grumbles. "Just at the time Beorn was super-sensitive to the fact that you'd tried to kill me. Beorn, say hi to Mister Leon."

Leon snorts in laughter. "No such thing as Mister Leon," he informs her. "I'm just Leon. Now, I think I shall echo your question. Fiona, what have you told her about me?"

"Nothing," Fiona retorts. "Logan told it all before I got a chance. Plus I didn't even know you were Whispers until you showed up as Whispers dredge liaison."

"And I didn't know _you_ were Whispers until I saw your aura," Leon retorts. "Now tell me the story of how one of you is an Agent and one is an Initiate when you both signed up at the same time?"

"Does talking about Whispers stuff count as 'distressing topics?'" Forgal asks sourly.

"Yes," Tiffany agrees immediately. "Let's talk about the Pact instead."

"The Pact is a very expansive subject," comes a new voice, and Tiffany glances up to see Trahearne.

Leon blinks in consternation. "Well. I should have known all the Pact's officials were going to be here, it's a kind-of birthday celebration of two of the Pact Champions. Isn't this awkward, me surrounded by three PCs and Marshal Trahearne, and I only a lowly Agent."

"I'm sure you can handle it, Leon," Fiona says, rolling her eyes.

"Hey, this isn't official, anyway," Tiffany points out. "Right, Fiona?"

Fiona hesitates.

"Fiona?" There is an edge of anxiety to Tiffany's voice now.

"Yes, yes, it's completely casual," Fiona agrees finally. "The look on your face was priceless," she adds.

"Oh, come on," Tiffany groans. "I'm being _used_. As a funny-tool. What has become of the mighty Tiffany that has slain - what did you say, Leon? - legions of centaurs?"

"Yes," Leon agrees. "Your existence has become quite dismal, indeed. You should bemoan your fate."

"Fiona, does talking about Deborah count as a 'distressing topic?'" Tiffany asks. "Oh, wait - "

Fiona nearly growls. "Yes, it does."

"I see you're enforcing your rule," Trahearne notes.

"I have to!" Fiona grumbles. "They want to talk about things like our dead sister, our family that we can't see anymore, and Whispers things that Forgal has problems with!"

"Hey, that one's different," Tiffany points out.

"Not very," Forgal mutters. "I'd say it's _very_ connected with dead family members."

"Distressing. Topic," Fiona says with a glare. "The whole point of the rule is so that you don't depress yourself. Now talk about something cheerful."

"I may be beginning to question why I sent Sieran away," Trahearne notes dryly.

"You _all_ need better senses of humor," Leon says flatly. "All of you. Every last one. Except Fiona."

"Hey!" Tiffany exclaims, outraged. "You can't have exceptions with 'all' and 'every last one!'"

Leon shrugs. "It's called humor."

"No, it's _not_ humor," Tiffany groans, while privately thinking that that statement in itself is the humor.

"And you should meet Sieran," Forgal tells Leon. "She has a sense of humor."

"I have," Leon tells him.

"Oh, they're talking about senses of humor," another voice remarks. "I know absolutely _nothing_ about humor. Maybe I should leave."

"Don't you dare, Vriré," Fiona calls.

"I am in a very bad position, just tactically," Tiffany notes. "I am looking at the river and I can't see when people walk up behind me. All of you should have skinned me alive by this point."

"Do you want me to?" Leon asks, sounding serious.

"You'd better not skin one of my Initiates," Vriré informs him.

"Oh, whatever on the PCs," Tiffany pipes up suddenly.

Fiona glares at her. Leon gasps.

"Why are you cursing _us?_" Forgal asks. "You're also cursing yourself."

"No, I'm cursing the player character, not the Pact Champions," Tiffany explains. "I said I would, ages ago, and I completely forgot about it until now."

"What made you remember?" Fiona asks curiously.

"I don't think - "

"What's a player character?" Leon asks.

"Exactly," Tiffany finishes. "It's a secret code thing," she explains to Leon.

"You have a secret code?" Leon asks.

"Yep. It sounds like **sith, tipecksa oy od ton wonk tahaw I ma niyaas, esoowackeb oy od ton wonk ehet egayuggnal.**"

"**Pots neeklat ni Shilgni, Inafit, ehe thigim nrayell tahaw ew eerah niyaas!**"

"Oh great Kormir," Leon mutters. "You guys are Whispers to the core."

"It's _not_ a Whispers thing," Tiffany points out. "We made it up ourselves."

"Why don't you use that more often?" Trahearne wonders.

"Because people might figure it out," Tiffany grumbles, picking at some grass. "It's specifically for just-me-and-Fiona talking, no offense, guys."

"You can't figure it out so easily as just listening," Vriré reminds them. "Remember that I played with recordings of it for hours and couldn't figure it out."

"Yay, because who knows what would have happened if you had," Tiffany notes semi-grumpily.

"Wait," Trahearne says suddenly, holding up a hand. He glances southward. "There are Risen. Close, and probably only one."

"How do you _know_ that?" Tiffany asks in surprise.

"Because I would have sensed them sooner if there had been more," Trahearne replies, drawing Caladbolg.

Tiffany springs to her feet and nocks an arrow. The others draw their weapons, too.

"This one is stronger than most," Trahearne warns. "It's not the mindless sort we normally see. And it's coming from the river."

"Got it," Tiffany nods, scanning the water for any sign of disturbance.

"There!" Fiona shouts, pointing, and Tiffany's eyes flick from Fiona to where she's pointing - but she doesn't shoot.

It's Deborah's Risen form. Leon's rifle goes off with a muffled boom, and the bullet goes through her eye. But Deborah just grins and hefts the sword - Deborah's sword - and steps forward with the stumbling, staggering step of Risen, her eyes dead and staring.

"No!" Tiffany hollers in rage. She releases the arrow ineffectually at the abomination formed of her sister's corpse. She drops her bow and, a moment later, her axes are in her hands and she charges the Risen. It takes a step back, as if surprised, and in an instant Tiffany is upon her. Spinning axes cleave the abomination's head open, and it falls back into the water.

Tiffany stands there for a moment, panting. Something's wrong. This isn't right. She glances back at the others. The barrel of Leon's rifle is smoking, and three Fionas blink back at her. Forgal and Vriré have their blades drawn and on guard.

Trahearne is shaking his head, glancing suspiciously back downstream. That is all the sign Tiffany needs to know that something fishy is indeed going on. She turns back to the water as adrenaline ebbs out of her system. But the horror of seeing Deborah, under Zhaitan's control, dominated by Corruption - that remains. That she'd killed this version of her sister brings her no comfort.

After a moment of nothing happening, Tiffany returns her axes to their places and picks up her bow again. "I… wasn't expecting that," she says softly.

Two of the Fionas shatter into shards like broken mirrors, and the real one, looking shaken, nods in full agreement.

"Marshal," Leon says promptly, "what are your thoughts on the effectiveness of a bullet versus supersonic sound waves when fighting Risen?"

Trahearne glances at the river again, then turns to Leon. "A sonic rifle will be more effective where we are going," he says gravely. "Bullets are for living targets."

Leon nods and salutes. "Alright. I'll keep that in mind, sir."

Trahearne glances back at the water.

"Alright, what's not happening?" Tiffany asks. "Do Risen not normally do that?"

Trahearne frowns slightly. "No, that was normal. But Zhaitan has not been acting normal recently. Normal, that is, except that there are no other Risen around here. There are too many unknowns. You should stay on guard."

Tiffany nods. "We all will," she says firmly, glancing at Fiona and Forgal, who nod in agreement

* * *

Nightfall comes soon after the incident with Risen Deborah. Fiona lies awake long into the night, hearing the music of the night rise and fall around her. Deborah had been raised by Zhaitan. Even now, her corpse is still floating downstream, somewhere south of them.

It gives her chills. Zombies and undead had become relatively normal for fantasy on earth - especially with Tiffany's obsession over the Risen when they were still just a game - but real life is different. _Her sister_ is different.

_Is this the 'trials' that will help me grow?_ Fiona wonders. It is not beyond the Dream to set a plan in motion long before she ever asked for it. Although Deborah, in particular, is the problem that sparked her problem with Forgal, which is the reason she asked for help in the first place.

Fiona lets out an almost inaudible sigh. Risen Deborah is dead, and she should feel some relief - perhaps even a softening of her feelings toward Forgal - but all she is left with is anxiety. Trahearne had said that was normal for Risen, but it doesn't feel like it to Fiona.

Fiona rolls over in her blankets and peers at Tiffany, sleeping on the other side of the tent. "You awake?" she whispers.

"Yeah," comes the quiet answer through the darkness. Neither needs to ask why. The silence stretches on.

"So different in Tyria than we thought," Tiffany says quietly, after a long while. "This is a thing that happens to _normal_ people. Losing family members to Risen. This isn't something odd like knowing the future or having relatives in another world. This is why people join the Vigil. Or the Priory. Or the Order. Because the dragons have personally touched their lives and made it impossible not to fight back. We were the odd ones out."

"And now we're not," Fiona agrees softly. "It's unreal. I don't know what to think."

"Don't let _that_ problem persist," Tiffany says, her obligatory Mordremoth obsession kicking in. But it is said quietly, and the moment passes.

"I… it just feels wrong. That she's still out there, even if she's not Risen anymore. I'm not the sort of person to have nightmares after scary things happen, but… " Fiona trails off with a sigh.

"Yeah," Tiffany says again. There's not much else to say. "You think… Fi, why is Tyria so…hard?"

"I don't know," Fiona sighs. "Maybe it's just a different kind of hard. Not restricted to Tyria, either. People die on earth. Wars are fought."

"But _Risen_. It's a sort of special horror, you know. Watching your own friends and family turn and attack you, a corpse controlled by the enemy. Fighting back. It's all just like the Trahearne thing. The Forgal thing. Except she _was_ Risen. She wasn't herself. It was different. But still… I can see why people tend to make special request over 'if I die, deal with my corpse' or 'make sure I stay dead.' It's terrifying."

"I think," Fiona says after a moment, "that we'll never look at even the 'ordinary' Risen the same way again. This one was somebody's family. That one had close friends."

"Yeah." Tiffany sighs. "I think… I respect all the other people who've been through it already a lot more now. General Almorra. Forgal. Trahearne. Destiny's Edge. And a lot more in the hypothetical future, like Braham. The Commander herself, even."

"Yeah," Fiona agrees. "We're… I don't know." _Surrounded on all sides by companionship. A common understanding. The same drive._ "I think I understand your obsession with the Pact a little more."

"And I understand the _feeling_ behind 'some must fight so that all may be free' a little more," Tiffany agrees somberly. "I mean, like, I thought it was a noble goal before, an awesome rallying cry, but… now I know what it stands for." After a moment of silence, she adds, "whatever on Zhaitan."

"Whatever on Zhaitan," Fiona agrees wholeheartedly. The soft silence remains until she finally falls asleep, and her worries vanish in quiet dreams.

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

OKAY that was fun! Things are starting to pick up finally. _And yeeeeee!_

I love it all. I LOVE IT. I should name this one _The Plot Thickens_. (But there's already one of those in _Reforging the Edge_, so…)

_Fear, Fire, Foes_. Nevermind! (Even though the only fire is gunfire from Leon's rifle…)

Don't forget to review and tell me how lame the 'summary' was!

Also, you can use the code HwKw8vy to join Tassof Friends on Discord! If you don't have an account, send me a (logged-in) review on FFN and I'll help you get started!


	7. Chapter 6: Unknown Sparring

THE UNBROKEN

* * *

Summary: Nobody noticed when this wasn't here last chapter… so… I'm going to have to figure out something else to put in this spot. Maybe a disclaimer? Or a dedication? (I saw one that thanked the guy who invented air conditioning… inspired, that…)

* * *

Chapter six: Unknown Sparring

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

So sorry I didn't post yesterday! This chapter needed a little extra attention, and I've been busy all week.

Also, Tiffany said a while back how danger could only make the Pact come together to fight. I considered making that the chapter name, but it was too long. Oh well.

_**Okay, here's the story now:**_

* * *

On Scion 22, the Pact arrives at Fort Concordia, the halfway point. No more Risen had been seen since the incident with Deborah a week prior, but Trahearne knows that they will be showing up with more regularity. Most civilized society encountered from here on out will be hostile.

The Pact has made camp a little way from the fort, and now Trahearne, Fiona, and the leaders of the Orders - with the Priory represented by Magister Wynnet - are making their way to the fort proper, to speak to the team leads here.

Scouts had been sent ahead weeks ago to tell Fort Concordia of the alliance between the Orders and the march to Orr, and Pact Champion Vriré's last report - three days ago - was favorable, so they will be well-prepared… unless something unexpected had happened.

The appearance of Tiffany and Fiona's Risen sister had unnerved Trahearne, not least because it was no normal attack. It was isolated, and Risen Deborah had been easily defeated - not a powerful Risen, as it would have been if it had had enough self-will to come here on its own, and Zhaitan wouldn't have given a weakling such an important mission alone. But it has been three weeks since the Battle of Lion's Arch, and Zhaitan is sure to have a new plan by now.

Zhaitan is actively responding to the Pact. Trahearne has to figure out what Zhaitan is up to and stop it. The lives of many are in his hands. Failure hovers like a cloud in the back of his mind. He hadn't been responsible for the life of another in a long time. And there is no war without death. _There has already been too much death._

"Magister Wynnet!" comes a voice, snapping Trahearne out of his thoughts.

"Magister Lindsay," Wynnet greets, more calmly.

"We found an ancient dwarven tome - is Gixx with you, or should we send it back to the Durmand Priory?"

"Gixx is not here, but Scholar Kekt is - he's with the camp a ways back."

Trahearne turns away from the conversation. General Almorra is already speaking to Tactician Art, evaluating supplies and the threat level in the surrounding area. Fiona is speaking to one of the other Vigil in the fort, asking about their own minor-scale alliance with the Priory.

But Trahearne is less worried about the alliance itself, and more about his role within it. He is trying to trust that the Dream knows what it is doing, but he's still figuring out how everything works. And trying not to get anyone killed. The incident with Deborah had reminded him that the Pact's sole purpose is to march into Orr and fight. And die. And rise.

Just because he had survived does not mean that others will. People die in war, and he will be responsible for each and every one.

A cold chill brushes his hand, despite the sun beaming down with near-noon warmth. Risen. It is a deep, dark freeze, not the minor tickle that Risen Deborah had been. And yet it is light; they are far off yet. With a small grimace, he channels Renewal and chases the feel of Corruption away. But that does not negate the threat that approaches.

He turns to Fiona, the only Pact Champion to have come to Fort Concordia with him. "There are Risen coming," he tells her. "It will be a pitched battle. Send someone to get reinforcements from the Pact camp."

Fiona nods and hurries off.

"Friends," Trahearne says, addressing General Almorra and Tactician Art, "there are Risen approaching from the south. Stay alert and prepare for battle. I've already sent for reinforcements."

"Tactician, warn the others," Almorra orders, and the young human hurries off to alert the dozen others currently in Fort Concordia. "I'll admit I had my doubts, Marshal, but it seems you can hold your own."

"I have to, General," Trahearne replies. He glances southward again as Fiona returns. "Is Doern in the fort?" he asks her.

"Yes," Fiona replies. "I think he had an agent here. How close are the Risen?"

"Too close," Trahearne answers, turning and heading toward the southern entrance with Fiona and General Almorra following closely. "And there are many of them."

Outside the fort, Trahearne sees a ghostly wraith leading a large squad of Risen through the shallow water toward the island. He draws Caladbolg instantly, but then the wraith speaks.

"Ha!" the wraith sneers. "There you are, sylvari. You came here of your own free will, but you will not leave - unless, by some miracle, you do so under Zhaitan's control. The elements bow before me, and I bow before Zhaitan. He wills your death, and he shall have it."

The Risen charge forward in a blind rush, and his allies raise their weapons. Through the Dream, Trahearne 'guesses' that Caladbolg is awake and ready for battle. For Caladbolg, Dream-guesses are commands. The blade comes to life, glowing softly. Trahearne can sense its mind, alert, handling sensory information from more inputs that Trahearne can ever guess - the blade is sensitive to all the commonly-wielded Aspects - telling him that the wraith is an elementalist and that these Risen are more full of Zhaitan's will than most.

Trahearne swings Caladbolg at the Risen, and the blade's own magic starts working. Lightning arcs off of its tip, leaping from foe to foe. Most fall limp; others shamble on toward him. The next electric burst streaks into the water. And then Trahearne's allies meet with the Risen in battle, the clashing of swords and the soft, barely-perceptible auras of the Aspects.

One of the Risen approaches him, and Trahearne lashes out with Caladbolg. A force forms along the edge of the blade, razor-thin, that cuts the Risen in two. Trahearne turns to the next enemy, and this one and its allies are swept back into the blue flame of a guardian's Protection.

More Risen fall to Caladbolg's magic, power bleeding off into them at the slightest touch, spreading like a debilitating poison, feeding on Corruption. Caladbolg's power is unequaled, at least on this battlefield.

"The dragon commands, and we answer," the wraith declares, working the water of the Gyre Rapids into a towering wave behind it.

_That's no common Risen - it's one of Zhaitan's lieutenants._ Kill the wraith, and the Risen lose their intelligence. Trahearne touches his focus for Renewal, summoning that Aspect to his aid. Cloaked in anonymity - for the moment - Trahearne moves through the wave of Risen.

But he is no more than a few steps into the throng when they turn on him; Trahearne is forced to defend himself as he wonders what had gone wrong. Perhaps they had already labeled him as a threat; perhaps Caladbolg is a beacon of some sort; maybe the wraith is hypersensitive today. Maybe the whole point of this attack is to kill him, personally.

Trahearne strikes with Caladbolg, the blade glowing softly in contrast to the destruction in its wake. It harnesses Protection, throwing blue guardian magic at the Risen, sticking and burning like napalm.

Trahearne swings Caladbolg, slashing in the direction of dry land, and Caladbolg responds to this more detailed request. The Risen are pushed back to shore, where half-a-dozen Fionas engage them, leaving only a few for Trahearne to deal with. He channels Renewal through his focus, flaring it up around him and challenging the Risen and the Corruption in them. Howling in pain and fury, they close in. _So much for that idea._

Caladbolg slices through the air and finds its mark repeatedly, infecting the Risen with its Corruption-weakening magic. The power holding the undead together slowly comes apart, dissolved. Trahearne moves toward the wraith again, aware of the Risen behind him approaching. _Wait, then what happened to Fiona?_

Trahearne absentmindedly throws lightning at the wraith. Without any other targets, the electricity fizzes within the green-and-black ghostly apparition, crackling and throwing off sparks. Trahearne glances back to see Tiffany bending over Fiona, unconscious on the ground. Forgal is holding off the Risen for the moment.

The wraith grins madly at him. "You cannot win. Surrender and accept Zhaitan!" Its black cloak flaps madly in the wind, and the air becomes moist and heavy.

Trahearne brings Caladbolg over his head and slashes down at the wraith, the force of magic gathering on the blade's edge again. This time, the wraith is crushed to the ground beneath the sword. Trahearne swings again, and the wraith is thrown back, further the from the Risen it commands. _Tiffany will help Fiona._

Trahearne turns to face the Risen coming for him - Tiffany and Fiona and Forgal are gone - lashing out with the wave of magic that pushes them back. He is learning Caladbolg's abilities now. He throws lightning at them, wondering if he can make it transfer the magical poison of Caladbolg. _I really need to find the name of Caladbolg's magic._ But he does not sense the Corruption's disruption.

Blue fire runs along the top of the shallow water, hemming the Risen in. But they ignore the flames and keep coming. _I guess I am the focus of this attack._

Water slams into him from behind, and carries him toward the shore and the Risen. The wraith is laughing behind him. Trahearne finds his feet again, swings Caladbolg around - the magical poison eats away at the reanimation of the Risen. A shout goes up from Concordia as the reinforcements arrive.

Trahearne leaves the rest of the Risen to them and turns on the wraith, pushing it back and throwing more blue napalm at it. The wraith screams and twists in midair as the fire burns, eating holes in its black cloak.

The fire dissipates, but the wraith is no longer grinning in victory. "Enough," it snarls angrily, floating toward him.

_I'm a threat to Zhaitan,_ Trahearne realizes as he raises Caladbolg again, his allies behind him. _I, Trahearne, Marshal of the Pact, am a threat to Zhaitan._ This realization emboldens him. "I am not afraid of you, dragon," he declares.

"You will die," the wraith says confidently. Beneath the defenders of the fort, the earth rumbles. A wall of dirt erupts in front of Trahearne, blocking his line of sight.

Suddenly, the Risen come around the wall, far too close and with little time to prepare. A moment later, they alight in blue flame, and, burning, they throw themselves among the living, intent on bringing as many down with them as possible.

Lightning leaps from Caladbolg's tip, searing three Risen before fizzling out. Trahearne crushes one to the ground, and throws the rest back. He turns to help his allies, but they have done well enough for themselves. The Risen are gone, unless the wraith had held some back. He can hear it laughing in glee. "You will die, then rise, and I will see you destroy your own allies!"

_It has a prisoner._ Trahearne quickly leads the way around the dirt wall, Caladbolg raised and ready, glowing softly.

The prisoner is Fiona. His sister in the Dream. She's still unconscious. He wants to charge in after her, but caution holds him back. He glances around quickly, looking for some weakness - he only sees the water of the Gyre Rapids flowing south; the dirt wall, now blocking his vision of Concordia; and stones beneath the current. Fiona held captive by the last Risen left. Nothing that was not already there.

"Surrender, or the life of your friend is forfeit," the wraith cackles evilly.

_It's willing to let Fiona - a Pact Champion, helpless and vulnerable - go to get at me._ He can't let her die - she's his sister, she's valuable to the Pact, Tiffany would kill him, Forgal would kill him - _stop, stop, panicking helps nothing._ Trahearne takes a deep breath and tries to think reasonably. But he finds that his usual standard of 'reasonably' has been turned on its head.

_I gave up my Wyld Hunt for the Pact. Do I have to give up my sister, too?_ Trahearne has lost so much for this hope - this small, far-off speck of hope. He can't throw it away now. But just as he had hesitated over leaving Orr to Corruption, he knows he can't leave Fiona to the dragon, either.

_And if I die, the hope the Pact has brought to many will fade. Corruption will spread further. And Zhaitan will not fall. Fiona will be another on a long list of those already claimed by Corruption._

Zhaitan must fall, for all the evil it has caused. "No," Trahearne says finally. "And you will die," he adds forcefully, advancing toward the wraith.

"So be it," the wraith cackles, and the last Risen plunges an evil-looking dagger into her heart. Trahearne grips Caladbolg more tightly at the sight, swinging the blade toward the wraith and the Risen in fury. Lightning lances out, rebounding between the two Corrupted beings.

But falsehood bounces back through the Dream. _She's not dead!_ Then, _how can she not be dead?_

The illusion shatters into butterflies, and the wraith, terribly weakened now, shrieks in fury, bringing the water into its service again as Trahearne and his allies come in to finish it. "I am of the dragon! I command the elements! I will not fall!"

Trahearne brings down Caladbolg on the fallen wraith, and its ghostly form puffs into nothingness. Its black cloak drifts on the surface of the water.

Trahearne looks around. He can see Fort Concordia from here - the dirt wall is no more. The water is still.

"Well done, Marshal Trahearne!" a charr with a drake companion says admiringly. "That Orrian ugly looked nigh unstoppable, but you did it."

"The Pact did it," Trahearne replies gravely. _Well,_ he notes to himself,_ now I know I won't stop at anything to kill Zhaitan. And it won't stop at anything to kill me._ "Our combined efforts made this happen," he says, looking around at Tiffany and Forgal and Beorn and the others. "Just as we'll defeat Zhaitan together."

* * *

After Fiona recovers from her injury at Fort Concordia - and grumbled over a Risen mesmer using her likeness to trick Trahearne - there are more Risen. Wandering around, causing mayhem, destroying things - not at all like the almost concerning absence from before. But at least they're here, not regrouping to attack again.

But… everything about overseeing communications becomes more difficult.

On Scion 23, the day after the Concordia incident, one of her team, a sylvari Whispers Agent named Nentres, comes to her with a concerned frown.

"We have a discrepancy, Champion," he tells her, confusion emanating through the Dream. "Crusader Ida reported that she was leading a Vigil detachment to wipe out the krait at Sipedon Deeps, but Agent Plikk, the one in charge of scouting that area, never told us about any krait - in fact, Ida ran into Plikk while she was there."

Fiona frowns, trying to ignore 'confusion' - it's more debilitating than most. "I'll speak to both of them. Can you get them?"

"Of course, Pact Champion Fiona," Nentres says respectfully, leaving the tent.

Not long after, Nentres returns with a norn and an asura, who identify themselves as Ida and Plikk, respectively.

"Agent Nentres tells me there has been a communications bug," Fiona notes. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"I received orders to take my squad to Sipedon Deeps, Pact Champion Fiona," Ida reports immediately. "The referenced report said there were krait there threatening two villages - quaggan and hylek - and that we should deal with them. I took my squad out, but then we ran into Agent Plikk's team. He told me he was the one in charge of scouting the area, but he hadn't located these krait. We both returned here to report the problem… but I found a message in my tent saying I should have followed my orders to the letter, never mind the scouting teams."

Fiona frowns. "That sounds problematic." It also sounds like a mystery story. Deception stirs a bit, but the feeling is muted. She'd left her foci in the tent where she sleeps, since she won't be having need of them. "Plikk, what was your experience?"

Plikk shrugs. "Nothing special, really; one of my scouts returned to Eztlitl Grounds - where we were based in temporarily - saying the Pact had sent Crusader Ida to attack a place called Sipedon Deeps. I knew I was in charge of the only scouting team in that region, according to Pact Champion Vriré's plans, so something was wrong."

Fiona sighs, running a hand through her hair. "I think the most obvious lead is to find out who placed that note in Crusader Ida's tent - can you figure that out?"

"Yes, Champion," Ida salutes.

"Great. Agent Plikk, I want you to talk to Pact Champion Vriré about this one. See if she sent any other scouting groups into your territory, and why she didn't tell you if she did. See what the other scout team leads have to say, as well."

"Understood," Plikk replies, giving his own salute.

"Great. I'll speak with you when you're ready," Fiona decides. "You're dismissed." She'd had to learn to be direct when issuing such commands. Directness is something she'd picked up, leading the communications department - being vague only leads to ambiguities and questions.

* * *

Later, Ida returns and reports that her superior - the one who had ordered her to attack - had been seen in her tent just before she returned, supposedly having left the note she found. Ida adds that she'd spoken to her superior, and he had known nothing about it.

Plikk reports something similar; Vriré had never sent a scouting detail to his area, but one of the other team leads had received a report from one of their scouts about Sipedon Deeps, without ever having sent the scout there. And the scout denied all knowledge of ever having gone _or_ sending the message.

Fiona frowns. "Agent Nentres, can you look for any other, less high-profile discrepancies that fit this description?"

"Actually, Champion," a charr on Fiona's team interrupts, "there's been several people denying things that they are on record as having done or said, but they weren't important and it didn't really matter before."

Fiona sighs. "This'll be difficult. See if you can track down them down, get the details, alright? It doesn't matter as much on the older ones, but I want instant notification if it happens again."

"Understood, Pact Champion Fiona," everyone choruses, saluting.

"Nentres," Fiona says after the two field agents depart, "can you take over for a tick or so? I need to talk to Pact Champion Tiffany."

"Of course, Pact Champion Fiona," Nentres agrees quickly. "Everything will be in working order when you get back."

* * *

"Hey, Tiff - oh, hi Trahearne," Fiona greets her friends.

"Going good, Fiona," Tiffany replies cheerfully. "I'm actually being useful finally! Instead of sitting around with nothing fun to attack."

Fiona grins. "If that's your definition of 'fun,' you'll like what I have to say. Well, kinda. Trahearne, you might be interested in this, too. We've got scouts out by Sipedon Deeps, but before they reported back, a team led by Crusader Ida went out to fight krait that hadn't been discovered yet. The Crusader's superior denied all knowledge of passing on these orders."

Trahearne frowns. "That's concerning," he says. "Are you sure it wasn't just a misunderstanding?"

"Very sure," Fiona sighs. "I asked everybody involved, and nobody had a clue. To be honest, I would have rathered this was a breach in procedure, because this is worrying."

Tiffany frowns. "So what's the part you said I'd think was fun?"

"Making sure the krait get wiped out with minimal confusion. Go yourself if you like; but send trusted people out there."

Tiffany nods. "Alright then. I'll see it done. What level of threat are we facing?"

"A whole settlement of krait, some Risen - but fewer than we've been seeing, which isn't much - and some miscellaneous threats like wild animals."

Tiffany nods. "Great. Consider it done."

* * *

Tiffany had just come from another discussion with Forgal about his problem with the Order of Whispers. He'd found any and every excuse to be on a mission of some sort at any given time, and Tiffany suspects that this is running away from the symptom rather than dealing with the trouble itself.

But Tiffany isn't about to try and press in on his issues more than she already has. She returns to her tent to find a message from Fiona detailing a threat in Sipedon Deeps that needs to be dealt with, and the expected number of krait and Risen. At the end, the addendum _send someone trustworthy_ had been scribbled, as if in haste.

Tiffany frowns at the report. _When did Fiona learn to write legibly? And what does she mean by 'send someone trustworthy?'_

Beorn sends her the sense of growing… and humor. _Maybe she learned._ Then, he sends the names of the Spar Warband; Aelius and Deorar and Sarria and Augurna and Shadow. The two companions don't know Celsus and Nipia well enough to have bond-names for them, but Beorn adds the family-friendship feeling to indicate _and their warbandmates._

Tiffany smiles at her companion. _Yes, we trust them._ So she turns and leaves the tent in search of Aelius.

* * *

The next day - much earlier than Tiffany had expected - Sarria appears in her tent, looking absolutely terrified. Her ears - all four of them - are laid back against her skull, and her tail is all bristly. Tiffany had been around cats enough to recognize fear when she sees it.

"What's wrong?" Tiffany asks in concern, rising from her chair. "Where are the others?"

"Oh, they're just playing at being Risen," Sarria says with a low growl in the back of her throat.

Tiffany pauses with a slight frown.

"They're _dead,_ Warmaster," Sarria snarls. "You told us there would only be a few Risen! We were overwhelmed by enemy forces. Aelius, Augurna, Shadow, Deorar, Celsus, Nipia - they're all _dead!_"

Tiffany stares at Sarria for a long moment. She trembles slightly. "They what?" she asks in horror.

"They're dead, all dead, every one," Sarria says again, her tail flicking back and forth in agitation. "But not Risen."

"Oh, no…" Tiffany whispers, sitting back down and burying her head in her hands. _What have I done?_

After a few deep breaths, Tiffany stands up again. "I have to go speak to Fiona," she tells Sarria, her voice unsteady. "I… I'm sorry."

She leaves the tent with a trembling step, Beorn at her side. She can tell through the Dream that he's just as agitated as she is, but he's sparing her by not sending it. She lets him feel a spark of gratefulness, however muted by shock and sadness.

* * *

Fiona looks up as Tiffany enters her tent. "How'd the mission go?" she asks, before she notices her sister's slightly confused, lost expression. "What happened?" she asks, her concern doubled when she feels nothing through the Dream.

"They're dead," Tiffany says, her voice hollow.

Fiona opens her mouth to ask who, and then remembers that she'd told her sister to send someone trustworthy. "Who?" she asks, her mouth suddenly dry.

Tiffany struggles for words for a moment, then says softly, "the Spar Warband. Except Sarria."

_Now_ Fiona feels Tiffany's emotion, along with the heavy knowledge that it was her orders that sent them out there. Fiona tries to separate this last from her own emotion, but fails. It _is_ her fault, she'd told Tiffany to send someone trustworthy.

"How…?" Fiona asks, at a loss. She checks her notes. "They would have been able to deal with this."

Tiffany nods somberly. "I don't know. Sarria mentioned Risen."

Fiona looks up alarm. "They haven't Risen themselves, have they?"

"No, not according to Sarria."

"Where is she now?"

"I left her at my tent," Tiffany says, wincing. "I should… ugh, I don't know. I don't…" she sighs. "I don't know how to deal with sad people."

Fiona has the strange urge to laugh at this. "You'll be fine," she assures Tiffany. "You dealt with Forgal enough for him to be friends with you when he was sad."

"Yeah, but Forgal has a mad kind of sad. Sarria is a terrified kind of sad."

"And we also know how to deal with terrified people," Fiona reasons.

"Terrified three-year-olds!" Tiffany fires back. "Sarria's terrified of the Risen, of how many there were, they killed her warband - she's vulnerable now, she doesn't have a warband anymore!"

"She doesn't have a - oh - she's a gladium now, isn't she," Fiona realizes. "That's like, a big thing for charr, right?"

"Yes it is a big thing for charr," Tiffany grumbles. "And it's also kind of the whole point of the Vigil in the first place."

Fiona winces. "Ouch… right… well." She pauses. "Would she even want to talk to us, then? If we got her warband killed."

"Well she came straight to me," Tiffany says with a frown. "She was kind of angry at first."

Fiona sighs. "Well, either way, we have to get a full report from her. Can you go get her?"

Tiffany silently leaves, with Beorn at her side. Fiona shudders. It feels unreal. It feels like nothing. The Spar Warband is dead, but… Fiona doesn't feel anything. She's more worried about _how_ and _why_. _I should be feeling sad or something,_ Fiona wonders to herself, before realizing that the fact that she isn't is a good thing - she isn't feeling and reacting to Tiffany's emotions. _At least it's my own emotions I'm feeling,_ she reasons.

Tiffany returns with Sarria, who doesn't look terrified in the least. But she seems smaller somehow, and she trails behind Tiffany, moving hesitantly.

Fiona hesitates. She suddenly realizes that she doesn't know how to talk to Sarria, either. Finally, she settles for, "what happened?"

"There were too many Risen," Sarria replies quietly. "There was a mesmer with them - a strong one. Aelius made the call to make a detour, but they followed us. The mesmer might have been following my Deception trail. We didn't even get to Nonmoa Lake."

"The others - were they Risen?" Fiona checks.

Sarria just shakes her head.

Fiona sighs. "Do any of you have a guess as to why there were more Risen than expected?" she asks.

Sarria shakes her head, and Tiffany, after a glance at Beorn, shrugs.

"Great," Fiona sighs. "Sarria… will you be okay?"

"Better than the others," Sarria points out dryly, a trace of her old humor returning. "I'll be fine. It's not like I'm a Vigil Crusader or anything."

"Alright," Fiona replies reluctantly. "Good luck."

As Sarria leaves, Fiona glances at Tiffany. The ranger shrugs with a grimace, and follows the Crusader out of the tent.

* * *

"Trahearne, we have a problem," Fiona says tiredly. She'd been up all night trying to figure out the glitch in communications. She hadn't been guessing about the number of Risen. "You heard the issue we had the other day. Tiffany sent out a squad to deal with it, but there were suddenly many more Risen in the area, and they were all killed but one. Agent Plikk reported confidently on the number of Risen in the area, but the ones that killed the Spar Warband were organized. I don't know how the numbers jump so fast, but I think it's worse than that. Does any of this make sense to you?"

Trahearne frowns. "Unless the Risen were deliberately trying to kill your squad - and they were going after krait, so there would be no reason for this. You're right, this is more than numbers changing. You're _sure_ there weren't many before?"

"That's what Plikk said, he's sure as a rock."

"I'm afraid there's nothing we can do," Trahearne says, and Fiona represses a sigh of frustration at the situation, before she realizes that this is Trahearne's feeling. He goes on, sounding tired, "I'll tell Vriré to send an investigation out there, but other than that, we'll have to wait and see. Keep me updated."

Fiona nods. Feeling Trahearne's weariness only magnifies her own. "Okay."

* * *

"This is serious," Vriré says firmly, addressing Trahearne and the other Pact Champions. "I haven't been able to find a trace of those Risen Crusader Sarria reported about, Tiffany. I also find it suspicious that, if a whole warband was killed by Risen, they did not become Zhaitan's minions themselves. Are you sure Crusader Sarria did not just exaggerate the facts to cover up the embarrassment of losing?"

"'Sarria is a charr of the Vigil who just lost her warband," Tiffany snaps. "And I happen to know her better than some. I was told to send people I trusted to ensure the job got done. She knew a high-priority goal was to dispel confusion."

Vriré frowns. "There's a discrepancy either way, Initiate. The fact is that the rest of the warband did not rise again. And the fact is that they _were_ killed, so something was there. And the fact is that the number of Risen in the area is normal - in fact, there are less of them than I would have guessed."

"If they were the target of a specific attack, then most of it makes sense," Trahearne points out. "The attacking force would have arrived, taken their victims, and left."

"But not Risen," Fiona says slowly. "Why would Sarria report Risen if it was krait?"

"If it _wasn't_ krait - if it was something she felt insulted by," Warmaster Forgal speculates. "She may have just picked Risen over krait at random."

"Sarria isn't the sort to report something wrong for a petty reason like that," Tiffany grumbles. "Maybe - _maybe_ \- to a superior she knew would make fun of her for it, but she knows me. Maybe the dead were not raised for some other reason."

"So, we have a pattern of glitches in our information," Vriré says. "Mostly centered around Nonmoa Lake. Are there any other disruptions?"

"Not around Nonmoa Lake," Fiona replies, "but the camp called Caer Evermore, to the west, was wiped out due to a scout reporting wrong information."

"Caer Evermore is gone?" Warmaster Forgal asks, visibly surprised and concerned. "How did I not hear about this?"

Fiona frowns. "You sent Warmaster Efut to tell me."

The norn huffs. "She _was_ irritated at me all day… I thought that was because she had to take over for a few minutes while I talked to Tiffany. She's a high-ranking Warmaster, why would I tell her to carry a message?"

"But Efut showed up right after Trahearne and I got back from talking to Tiffany," Fiona frowns.

"But you only sent a written message!" Tiffany points out, glancing between Fiona and Trahearne.

"Alright, we have to do something about this," Vriré declares. "These communications glitches aren't good for the Pact."

"I absolutely agree," Tiffany states firmly.

"They're not good for anything but Zhaitan," Fiona mutters, crossing her arms.

"What _can_ we do, Lightbringer?" Warmaster Forgal asks sharply.

"That's what we have to figure out," Vriré replies dryly. She isn't entirely sure it is a good idea for herself and Forgal to work closely, but she can do the most good as a Pact Champion. "Whether we stop it or not, we need to find some way of dealing with it. We can't just proceed as normal, pretending they're not actually happening."

After a moment of silence, Fiona speaks up. "Maybe we could double-check everything we hear before dedicating any troops or supplies to it?"

"I'm afraid that would be highly inefficient," Forgal points out, in a much nicer tone than that in which he had addressed Vriré. "We don't have the manpower to double-check everything."

"And the last time we tried, the Spar Warband died," Tiffany reminds them.

"I know, I know," Fiona sighs. "Just brainstorming."

"Hey," Tiffany realizes. "How about Whispers A-Key identification? I don't see how it could help, but it would add a layer of security to all Pact operations, and is a good idea even without the glitches."

Vriré levels an incredulous gaze at the ranger. "We are not providing the whole Pact with A-Keys, Initiate."

"Why not?" Tiffany fires back. "They don't even have to be Initiate-level, but the very act would send the message that the Pact is one unit, that we should trust each other - they don't have to do anything but provide identification, and maybe some of the others like corruption detection. But the very fact that the whole Pact is _using_ exclusive Whispers equipment will declare that we are working together on this. We don't even have to _tell_ them that they're not even Initiate-level and don't provide access to the Chantry of Secrets."

Vriré has to admit that she has a point. Except -

Warmaster Forgal interrupts her chain of thought. "Didn't you say those things might be recording everything?"

"That would be a good thing," Trahearne says. "If the Pact's information-gathering resources are compromised, we should know about it."

"_Do_ they record things?" Fiona asks.

"The initiate-level ones do," Vriré answers, pretending not to notice the significant looks the twins trade. "However, A-Keys are exceptionally difficult and expensive to make, due to the cloaking technology that hides them and the corruption detecting you mentioned earlier, as well as the ability to overwrite small spells if need be." _And the passive-trigger corruption removal,_ Vriré adds mentally, but she doesn't want the two Initiates to know about that quite yet. Not until she understands them a little better.

Fiona shrugs. "You don't need to give them all that. Just aura identification, security - including reporting death - and if the cloaking is so difficult, just add in a similar mechanism for reporting theft instead. And a different color."

"Why is the cloaking difficult?" Tiffany asks. "Fiona can hide things with a flick of her finger."

"_Fiona_ can," Vriré replies, "but the Aspects cannot be used by machines. I don't know how the Creators do it. In any case, Fiona, your suggestion is a good one, but we won't be able to supply the whole Pact immediately or any time soon."

"Your tracker," Fiona notes suddenly. "Prioritize the scouting teams, hook them all up to your tracker, and you'll know if one of your scouts is doing something wrong and be able to account for it earlier than otherwise."

"And as soon as you've got those," Tiffany adds, "prioritize the ones that frequently go out in the field - unit leaders, for example - so we can keep tabs on them as well."

"These ideas are all very well," Forgal says stiffly, "but are there any other ideas that have more of an impact on the issue at hand? That is to say, can we think about stopping the glitches altogether?"

"I can look for patterns in the glitches," Fiona suggests. "That might give us a clue as to who and why."

"I will do so, as well," Vriré agrees.

"Be careful, all of you," Trahearne warns. "We don't know what is behind this, be it Risen, krait, or something more sinister."

"Hey," Fiona says suddenly. "What if we sent another squad out to the krait, but I went with them - hidden, of course - to see what happens?"

"No!" Tiffany shouts.

"That is _not_ happening!" Forgal snarls.

"We don't use our allies as bait, Agent," Vriré says disapprovingly.

Fiona deflates. "Right. Sorry. I wasn't thinking. I suppose it would also be too hard to watch everything? Since we don't know where the next issue will arise."

"If I'm not mistaken," Warmaster Forgal points out, "it's already happened to a few of us. Fiona and Trahearne thought they were talking to Tiffany, and Efut thought she was talking to me. Or Fiona thought she was talking to Efut."

"What if one of us doesn't remember this conversation later?" Tiffany asks in alarm. "How do we know we're all here?"

"Then we should stop discussing sensitive information," Vriré points out. "We're spoon-feeding it to whoever is causing the problems."

"But we'll never figure it out without cooperating," Tiffany protests.

"In any case, I think we know all we need to," Vriré says firmly. "It's just a risk we'll have to take, later on, until we find out how to detect it, at least."

* * *

As Kennan strides among the tents, whispers and stares follow him. Kennan doesn't normally come to this side of the camp, and there aren't very many other Whisperers around here. _Not that they'd want to stay, given the level of hostility I'm getting._

Tybalt had told him that the best way to deal with sneers and talk behind his back is to prove them all wrong. _That's very well for him, since it was about a physical deformity. These people are muttering about my Order, and the personality that I must have to be one of them._ Such a thing cannot be disproven at mass volume.

Demmi had told him to just ignore them, because they are insignificant flies that know nothing about him. A very obviously human perspective - Kennan thinks flies are fascinating and not insignificant in the slightest. _But, Demmi, to speak your language, they do annoy you, and you can't do much about them._ Which had been her point, of course.

Like most members of this newly-minted 'Pact,' Kennan and his friends have no ongoing task. His job is to march when the army moves, and to wander around and be bored when it isn't. Kennan, still being very young, even for a sylvari, likes to walk around, both to talk to people and to observe nature.

Tybalt, of course, is very grouchy about it, because he had had a taste of the action that active agents have, and doesn't want to lose it so soon. Plus, Tybalt also just learned that he isn't a wuss - a new word Kennan had learned recently - and wants to be doing "something important, not sitting around in camp all day!"

Demmi - more creative in her pursuits - seems to be entertaining herself well, but she is still an Initiate and has a lot to learn, so there is plenty to occupy her attention. _Maybe I can get PC Vriré to let me go scouting,_ Kennan speculates. _I might be able to help solve the communication problems._

Tybalt had been enthusiastic when Kennan first suggested this, and said "yes, maybe so!" And Demmi had just grinned and said nothing.

The biggest reason that Kennan wants to walk around this hostile camp is because Demmi had said nothing. Demmi 'saying nothing' equals 'something about society that Kennan doesn't know yet, but I won't tell him,' and so of course Kennan has to go find out.

So far he has several theories. One is that everybody thinks that Whisperers are the ones that are responsible for the glitches in the first place, and so Demmi thinks it would be ironic if a Whisperer was the one that figured out and stopped them. Two is that maybe one of the Whisperers _is_ the one behind it, and if he can figure it out further, he can show Demmi how dumb he isn't. Three is that maybe this is a bigger thing than he guesses, and Demmi is thinking how cute it is that he thinks he can solve it.

_I could always ask Tybalt, but that's boring._

So Kennan finds a Priory charr who looks quasi-friendly, and asks, "what is naive - " a word Demmi had taught him - "about wanting to try to solve the communications problems?"

The charr raises an eyebrow at him. "Is this some kinda test?"

Kennan blinks. "No, I was just wondering. One of my friends called me that when I suggested joining the scouting squad. I know what the word is, but I want to know what's naive about it."

The charr huffs. "Go figure it out yourself. Go ask one of your fancy Preceptors."

Kennan frowns. "They're not actually preceptors," he explains. "It's just a fancy word that sounds cool, and so some weirdo decided to use it for a rank. They don't actually teach precepts." Kennan is very proud of this bit of knowledge - one of the few things he'd been able to surprise Tybalt and Demmi with - and it seems that few other people ever noticed, either. "Is that why you don't like the Order?"

"It's a… symbol of why we don't like the Order. They're ignorant of history and deny its importance."

Kennan frowns. "I can see that being a problem."

"It's also why I, personally, don't like sylvari. You want to help fight the dragons, but, as a race, you don't know what it's like, facing them. You're outsiders."

Kennan blinks as the charr walks away. He'd been able to follow Demmi's advice about ignoring people and not caring, but this is different. He walks back to the tent where Tybalt and Demmi are, feeling vaguely… dispirited.

"Why, what's got you so upset?" Demmi asks.

"Some random Priory guy," Kennan grumbles. He doesn't particularly want to talk about it. At least not until he figures out why his heart feels heavy and his shoulders droopy.

"What did he say?" Tybalt asks.

Kennan shrugs, and Tybalt reluctantly leaves him alone.

_We're… outsiders. We haven't experienced the history the others have with the dragons. But we __have__ been given Wyld Hunts, and we do care. We seem to see more of the beauty of Tyria than the others, at any rate._

But this does ring with something Kennan had felt - the sylvari are _different_. No other race spontaneously came into being. No other race is formed of anything other than flesh and blood. No other race is born fully formed.

No other race only has a history of twenty-five years. _The dragons have been around for far longer than that._

But Kennan knows all this - had known it since he awakened. Why does the restatement of it from another, non-sylvari, trouble him so much?

_Because it's true. It is a concern. A lack in my people._

This must be why PC Sieran had joined the Priory. She's only seven years old - much older than himself - and the Priory has all the history and knowledge.

Through individuals like Sieran, memories enter the Dream. 'Racial history' - as opposed to individual history and knowledge - is much more literal than for any of the other races. And the racial memory of the sylvari is growing far faster than the time it takes to make new history.

_It's emotion, though. It's all about emotion._ The Dream's memories of history would be dry; mere knowledge. But the Dream is all about emotion. Intense emotion is what preserves the memories in the Dream - the same logic the Nightmare Court uses. _But we __have__ intense emotion. Even just a few of us, experiencing the terror of the Risen - that soon permeates the whole society._

Is it because this knowledge is new?

Kennan doesn't understand it. _Maybe I will have to ask Tybalt about this one._ Or maybe another, older sylvari, since this is a sylvari thing. But Kennan doesn't actually know that many other sylvari - except for Caithe and Trahearne, but they've probably forgotten about him by now. _And Malyck is still… searching for his Tree. Unless he's found it by now._

Tybalt it is, then. _Demmi can see how much of a better Whisperer I am. I don't depend on her for knowledge._ Kennan smiles, satisfied. _That'll show you who's the Agent around here, Miss Initiate._

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

Kennan! Mwahaha! He was SO fun to write! His voice seems to come naturally to me! (I hope I get more chances to write his perspective more, that was fun!)

Don't forget to review and tell me what you think! (Or use the code HwKw8vy to join the Tassof Friends Discord server!) I keep thinking how bad I am at writing about Beorn, but Falcon says he loves him and is awesome, so… your thoughts?


	8. Chapter 7: Crumbling Confidences

THE UNBROKEN

* * *

Summary: This chapter is dedicated to all those poor fanfic writers (that I mostly know about from _Harry Potter_ fandom) that try to post multiple stories on a one-week schedule. Plus real life. It must be stressful. Stressful writing is _not fun_. I'm sure glad I don't have a schedule… ehh… until recently…

* * *

Chapter 7: Crumbling Confidences

* * *

_Author's Notes: _

* * *

Saturday morning (fourth of July, yes), I checked to see what chapter I would be posting on Monday morning. I _freaked out_.

This chapter contains two scenes that took me _weeks_ to figure out (that I'm still not sure of), and _half_ of a chronological nightmare. _Half_. That means if I mess up making sure it works, I can't really fix it for the second half, now can I?

Wednesday morning (just before posting), I return to delete all the melodrama that followed my obsessive worrying in the last paragraph, and to add in that I have fixed all of the problems I perceived in this chapter, and have made it a particularly long one to make up for the waiting time.

(If you want to see all the melodrama that was 'a story inside of the author's notes that was actually continued in the ending author's notes but I deleted that also,' check Discord.)

_**Okay, here's the story now:**_

* * *

When the Sorrow's Prowler and the other ships arrive at Fort Trinity, Sieran is absolutely relieved to see that repairing it will be very straightforward. She isn't building a fortress, she's repairing a ruin. Ruins are _much_ more in line with her area of expertise - and this ruin had once been a fortress, so its structure is designed for holding an army. Sieran could have danced.

The creativity that is natural to her won't be put on hold; anything Sieran can come up with will be limited by the design of the original fort, and therefore won't be too out-of-line. Fort Trinity itself is her backup Magister!

The tough decisions made already, Sieran jumps into her role as Magister over this group with gusto. She still isn't a Pact Champion, not by any means, but she's a good Magister. Before the _Sorrow's Prowler_ departs, its mission complete, Seal approaches her with an observation.

"You'd be a good leader if you could only make decisions," he tells her bluntly. "I think you'll do a good job on Fort Trinity, but I hate to think what would have happened if you'd started from scratch."

"I agree," Sieran tells him, and he gives her the oddest look in the world before climbing aboard his departing ship. Sieran watches the _Sorrow's Prowler_ depart with a frown marring her normally cheerful expression. What had that odd look been about?

"PC - uh, Pact Champion Sieran?" comes a voice. "Where should we put the supplies once they're unloaded?"

Sieran turns away from her idle curiosity - Fiona never gets lost in thought when there's a job to be done - and to her duty. "Keep it away from the ships," she directs. "We'll need that space to unload the metalwork."

"Understood, Champion!" the worker says, saluting, and runs off. Sieran sighs. She is _not_ a Pact Champion. She is nowhere near Fiona's level of awesome - not her, or the rest of them! - and, in Sieran's opinion, it is an insult to Fiona's ability that Sieran is counted as her equal. Sieran hadn't said this out loud, of course - just as she nor Gixx nor her backup Magister had ever told anyone why there are two Magisters on any mission - but it still chafes.

A few days later, Sieran looks over the fort-to-be and realizes that it differs from the needs of a military headquarters in one major way; there is no barracks. This ruined fortress had never been a garrison in its early days, which probably date back to before the Cataclysm, if not earlier. She can't adapt the area that was previously a jail or prisoner holding cells - there isn't enough space there for a whole army. She'd decided to make that area - minus the jail cells, of course - into a medical healing center.

Sieran flies around on a cloud of Air, frowning at the fortress and wondering how to fix it. The abandoned ruin is situated on and hangs off of a small cliff, part of which continues in a low beach that Sieran plans to turn into a docking and loading area for ships. Part of the cliff, however, just plunges into water, but Sieran suspects this was designed, as the shoreline springs up again not much farther on. The fort, on the other hand, continues right to the edge of land but then abruptly cuts off - there is no usual sign of crumbled walls that are normally present on ruins.

On a hunch, Sieran lands on the beach and, taking a moment to draw up the power of the Aspect of Water, takes control of the waves in the tiny inlet. With a heave of power that Sieran knows will leave her weakened for days, she pushes the water aside, absently noting how this would be a good harbor - maybe she should relocate the docking area to here, instead - but these thoughts flee her brain when she sees what lies at the bottom of the 'harbor''s floor - more ruins.

These ruins are too jumbled, rusted, and confused by time and water currents to tell what they are, but Sieran's mind instantly jumps to the submarine that Pact charr are building in Lion's Arch - to be sent later on. Sieran had initially designed the docks that are being built not far away to accommodate a submarine, as well, but the idea that Fort Trinity - or whatever its historical name was - had once been built to hang above the water leads her to change her plans.

Sieran calls the heads of the work crews together and outlines her idea, which the workers agree to with great enthusiasm. The submarine dock is relocated to the new inlet, and Fort Trinity expands out over the water to surround the new dock and protect it.

As Sieran watches the work progress, she realizes that her initial concern about barracks has not been addressed; so she takes to the Air once more to get a good view of the construction.

Now that her mind is not occupied by the problem of what the unnatural-seeming inlet is, she sees almost immediately that the cliff is the answer; it is a small cliff, just high enough that it would take two norn standing on top of each other to see over. Hollowed out, it would double the amount of space there is in Fort Trinity - certainly enough to house an active army in.

Landing next to the unfinished submarine dock, Sieran approaches the cliff. It is not yet obscured by the metal plates that will be used to box in the area, which suits Sieran. Carefully changing from Air to Earth, she threads her magic into the cliff, then pauses. She has been noticeably weaker in the Aspect of Water since she'd used it to peer at the ruins at the bottom of the harbor. Being an elementalist, and having an attunement to four different Aspects, means she hadn't fainted from energy loss, but it takes her much longer to recover from large uses.

Sieran wants to hollow out this cliff, but being in a state of recovery in two Aspects at once will leave her scarily vulnerable - and right on the edge of Orr, too. So, instead, she outlines a good-sized door in the cliff and tells the foreman of the crew to leave that area bare.

A few days later, as Sieran feels her usual strength in Water returning, she goes back to where her outlined door is. The submarine dock is much more built up - the supporting beams for the roof have been laid in place, and the cliff has been covered in the metal plates. But Sieran's doorway remains untouched.

Channeling her magic into the rocky cliff, Sieran first evaluates the earth that the cliff is composed of; rocky on the outside, to shield against the water normally lapping at its base, but normal dirt further in, as seen from above. The cliff is solid and firm; it is not an overhang with water below it. Sieran will have as many levels for Fort Trinity's barracks as she needs - if she wishes, she could treble or quadruple the amount of space in Fort Trinity. It might not even be all barracks down here!

Sieran begins the hollowing-out of the cliff with her usual cheerful energy, drawing earth out of the doorway and piling it in an out-of-the-way corner of the beach. In this manner she works her way into the cliff, and when she looks back she can see a rough corridor through which light shines.

Realizing that her magic is getting wobbly - she is controlling mounds of dirt from too great a distance - she returns to the entrance and starts hollowing out upwards and around, making it a little room.

Apparently some of the workers had called some of the other elementalists on the team - or at least the Earth-proficient ones - to help her, and the work goes much more quickly once they arrive. She explains her idea, and they all seem delighted by the concept.

Instead of channeling out to the dirt pile Sieran had started, they mound it up within the cavern they are creating, to be taken out later. They get a lot accomplished in two or three ticks, but then, one by one, they start being unable to use any more Earth; they are magically exhausted. Sieran manages to outlast many of them, but finally, she, too, ceases work. Instead, she and the others begin channeling Air to lift the piles of dirt out of the cavern.

Suddenly, one of the elementalists realizes a problem - they had been automatically holding up the roof with Earth, but how will it fare once they all release the magic? Holding up the roof doesn't require much of it; but most of them can't channel any of it at all right now.

"We'll hold it up with Air," Sieran tells him. "We can work in shifts - our Earth will still recover even if we aren't sleeping."

Over the next few days, Sieran and the other elementalists hollow out the cliff.

"Well," one of the Vigil Crusaders remarks once it is completed, "we still have to solve the problem of how to hold up the roof once we're done."

"How are most caverns' roofs held up?" Sieran asks rhetorically. "We'll put in beams of wood, or compact the earth above us to hold together on its own, or some such thing."

"Either way," another one remarks, "I have thought up another problem - this is to be the barracks, but it is very hot in here, and will likely only get more so with a bunch of people in here producing body heat."

Sieran frowns. "That is a problem that the Elemental Aspects should be able to solve," she allows, "but we can't sustain it."

"Actually," one of the Whispers asura - a Creator named Jinxxa - pipes up, "I might be able to build a device that could extract the necessary magic of the Facets from its surroundings. It's done all the time, really, but the more powerful Aspects are difficult to harness that way, especially for a specific activity."

Sieran frowns. "But magic users do that all the time!" she protests.

"Yes, but magic users have intent and will and reason," Jinxxa counters. "Machines do not. At best, they have a goal and a method, but they are not infinitely adaptable and can be very stupid if we have not programmed countless millions of reactions into them. The Aspects do not like doing things without a reason or motive, and being harnessed into one, repetitive action for an indefinite period of time… no. Only the smaller Facets that compose the Aspects work that way."

Sieran thinks a moment. "Alright, I'll give it direction," she suggests. "I'll do what I want it to do once, then connect it to the machine somehow with the direction to do more. If the machine is drawing more of the Aspect of Air from its surroundings, I won't need to maintain it or waste my magical energy, but the magic has its reason and goal and all the other things, and everything is cherry."

Jinxxa stares at Sieran. "You are a _genius!_" she whispers in awe.

Sieran does now know how to reply to this redonkulous* accusation, so she just frowns in incomprehension. "It's just logic," she points out.

Jinxxa shakes her head. "Don't sell yourself short," she sighs. "I'll get to working on that machine right away, Champion."

* * *

After Vriré's meeting about the communication problems, Fiona decides to keep an eye out for more discrepancies.

She needn't have bothered - the glitches are blatant. It hardly takes a child to see them - but figuring them out is a harder problem. _'Figuring out' is a misnomer,_ Fiona grumbles to herself. _I'm just narrowing down where the discrepancy occurred in each problem. It's not fixing anything. _She can't find the source of any of them, no matter how long she keeps herself awake, figuring the problem by candlelight.

And Fiona is getting ready to snap. She is stuck in an office-tent all day, dealing with written communications _and_ in-person reports, and her Deception foci are gathering dust, wrapped in her bedroll. She is spending all day just confronting problems, trying to work through them and trace down where they came from - and achieving nothing. All on top of her regular tasks as head of the communications department, which have mostly been offloaded onto Nentres, whose continual stressed-out worrying is infecting her through the Dream. An intense downward spiral.

She wants to scream… And she _certainly_ does not want to be around sylvari at all. Even just reporting to Trahearne gives her a depressed headache, because all the concern and worry from him about what is going on infects her - as if she wasn't _already_ stressed out?! Being around Tiffany is a nightmare all its own, since they're both feeling the guilt of every death caused by the problems.

Sieran is the only one whose presence Fiona would welcome. Maybe the cheerful sylvari could have brightened her day, but no, Sieran's away - probably at Fort Trinity already.

_Nothing, nothing, nothing_, Fiona groans to herself, thumping her head on her desk. No answers, lots of problems, not enough time, too many sylvari…

But she has to. It's her Wyld Hunt to support Tiffany, and that means doing her part for the Pact. So she buckles down even harder, staying up late and going over reports and discrepancies and trying to find patterns, and getting up at sunrise to investigate what had come in overnight. _As if wearing myself out is going to help anything,_ Fiona grumbles to herself. But even if she'd tried to limit herself and get enough sleep, her job is still time-consuming and stressful, and half of her sleeping time is spent awake, fretting over the problems anyway.

Fiona sighs and reaches for the Dream, letting it blanket her in a layer of calm and comfort. If she needs it to, it will even help her re-center her sense of identity, separate from the emotions that are not hers. It is a unique feeling, and Fiona can grudgingly admit that the empathy does have its benefits.

Fiona doesn't know if these problems are the trials meant to help her grow, but Tiffany is depending on her, and Fiona clearly can't help any other way, so Fiona keeps going. These problems are already breeding suspicion amongst the Orders - who knows what will happen to this still-tenuous alliance if allowed to continue. Tiffany would die if the Pact fell apart.

_Can't let that happen,_ Fiona reminds herself. _Tiffany's the only reason I'd stay in Tyria, if given the choice._

_Well…_ Fiona realizes that isn't true, at least not anymore. Recently, she has come to treasure her relationship with the Dream, and she does not feel like leaving it. _Even if going back to earth technically wouldn't be leaving it. It works differently there, even if it's the same personality._

So she returns her attention to her work. _For Tiffany. For the Dream. For my Wyld Hunt. For growing through tests and trials._

* * *

"Tiffany!" Fiona says cheerfully, bouncing in to the tent that the higher levels of the Vigil use to organize military-based missions. "Wanna go bash up some Risen?"

"I can't, not now," Tiffany replies distractedly, trying to figure out which of two threats is the most pressing and which is most likely to have been fabricated. "I can send a squad to deal with it, but I just don't have the time."

"Aww, come on," Fiona grumbles. "You _never_ have the time!"

"Neither do you," Tiffany sighs, irritated. "I'm busy. Just tell me where the threat is and I'll send a squad to deal with it, but I don't have the time right now! The Pact is just getting off the ground, you know I have a lot to be worrying about right now!"

Fiona walks in the tent, but Tiffany ignores the illusion as the real Fiona sighs at her. "Whatever, Tiff. You deserve a break. We don't have to beat up Risen - we could just have a nice chat."

Tiffany's freezes, staring at her desk. She slowly looks up at the first Fiona. "Did… did you just curse the Pact?" she asks numbly, wondering why her eyes are wet. _The curse is one of the few things we have left of Deborah. And Fiona is going to use it on the Pact? After Deborah gave her life for it?_ "I… I can't believe you'd do such a thing," she whispers. She blinks the tears away and crosses her arms, then uncrosses them, puts her head in her hands. She needs to be doing something. She rises out of her chair. "Just… just go," she says absently. The words feel foreign, almost as if somebody else had said them.

Beorn sends her understanding, and nuzzles her hand with his nose. Tiffany replies with all the feeling in her head, and through the Dream their minds merge in sadness.

"That isn't my illusion!" the illusion of Fiona growls suddenly, and Tiffany glares at her.

"Just get out of here," she snarls angrily. "I know you can talk through illusions, just get out of here."

The first Fiona - the one that had said 'whatever' - shatters into butterflies. So _that_ one was the illusion, then. It was still Fiona, though. Tiffany throws another malevolent look at her sister. "Go," she repeats.

"If you don't trust my magic, say so," Fiona snarls at her. She tosses a file onto Tiffany's desk. "I've got reports of Risen in Mosstide Walfts."

_Great, a written report._ These are almost always unreliable - for all she knows, the contents will change the next time she looks away - however that works - and she'll send her soldiers to an unwitting doom and resurrection. Or they might already have changed. She sighs in frustration, rubbing her forehead tiredly and just wishing she could go to sleep. So much is at stake here - the Pact, killing Zhaitan, cleansing Orr, Trahearne… "Are you sure?" she asks, glancing at the short and to-the-point message.

"You know how sure I am," Fiona snaps, whirling around and stalking out. "And my illusions don't shatter in butterflies!" she shouts back.

Tiffany sighs and puts her head in hands. She longs to simply ignore the report - she'd sent enough soldiers to die already - but she can't. Innocents will die if she doesn't, and the problem will get worse. She's supposed to be able to deal with this - she's the replacement of the player, the Commander, and - even in reality - the person Trahearne trusts to get the job done. _Dream, help,_ she asks plaintively.

Tiffany stares resentfully at the report from under her fingers. She isn't fooled - there is a fifty-fifty chance of there not actually being any Risen, or far more than the estimate in the report.

A fifty percent chance of either being a squad short for a week or losing it completely is huge, as Tiffany had come to learn, yet Tiffany can't ignore the Risen. She can't hope they go away - because if they do, they'll threaten some village of innocents. And tomorrow, more Risen will show up, and another squad will be sent to deal with them, and one or the other of the two is going to die or not return, and Tiffany won't be able to deal with the _next_ bunch of Risen.

None of this is technically her fault - although Tiffany certainly feels responsible either way - but the real problem is that she should be able to fix it, and she's letting the problem go on by not really dealing with it. She's too busy, and it's Fiona's job - both of which are valid excuses - but… she feels responsible. She can't just assume everything will go right - this hadn't happened in the game!

_My memories of the game __are__ a bit spotty,_ she acknowledges, _but I would've remembered something like this._

_Just trust the Dream. It'll be alright._

* * *

"I can't believe you'd do such a thing," a norn snarls at Leon.

"Whoa, dude, I don't even know you," Leon says, holding his hands up. The norn had stopped him in the middle of the dredge camp - seemingly just to yell at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Explorer Leon," he replies, "now _Agent_ Leon. Why would you betray our order and - "

"We're all the same organization now," Leon points out, slightly confused. "It doesn't matt - "

"Of course it matters!" the norn roars. "It doesn't change who we are as the Priory that we've teamed up with bullheads like the Vigil and dishonest sneaks like the Order - but then, you're a dishonest sneak yourself."

"Which is the whole point," Leon continues for him. "So your problem is that I'm of two Orders instead of just the one? I still don't get why that's a problem. Steward Gixx asked all of us if we wanted to stay behind, because we'd be working with the other Orders - and you answered no."

"What proper Scholar _would_ answer no?" he snaps. "I didn't come because I was willing to work with you - I came so I could study - things that you obviously know nothing about."

"Hey, just because I'm Whispers now doesn't mean I'm not Priory," Leon sighs. "I still don't get what the problem is. Why is working with the other Orders such a bad idea?"

"Oh, of _course_ you'd say that," the Priory Scholar scoffs. "Tell me, what do you think of the Vigil?"

"I think they're admirable fighters whose order is designed to protect the innocent and smash the Elder Dragons in the face," Leon replies promptly. "I'd have joined them myself if I wasn't the quiet type."

"Gah!" the norn scowls, flinging his hands up in the air. "You are unbelievable!"

Leon shrugs. "Don't hang around me if you don't want to - you're the one who bothered me, remember."

"Don't mind Aki," a nearby charr with an Agent-level aura grunts, lifting a supply box. "He's calling you untrustworthy because you joined the Order. Kinda stupid in my opinion."

Leon sighs. "No stupider than half of everybody else, then."

"Nah, it's stupid 'cause it's the wrong reason. You're untrustworthy because your first alignment was to the Priory. We have no idea who you'll choose if our goals conflict."

"But they _won't,_" Leon groans. "Isn't that the _whole entire point_ of the _whole entire Pact_ to begin with?"

The charr growls at him. "This Pact isn't gonna last, if you didn't notice, and it's certainly not going to affect _our_ long-term plans." He stalks off.

Leon shakes his head in disbelief. "Where did 'fighting the dragons' go?" he wonders. "Nobody cares about _that_ anymore! The Priory is a center of knowledge and Order of Whispers manipulate things on a world-wide scale - but the _point_ of it is missing!"

Aki snorts. "Oh great. I'm leaving. I've got better things to do than argue with a biased unity fanatic."

"I'm an anti-Elder Dragon fanatic," Leon corrects as the norn walks away.

"Whatever," Aki tosses over his shoulder.

Leon's eyes widen. _How did he just manage to figure out how to curse __everybody__?_ he wonders. _Not even Fiona and her sister did that!_ Fiona had told him, Izza and Kazakh all about the curse - and their fake plans to spread it all over the world. _Everybody-everybody_, Leon nods to himself. _Except the Sons of Svanir, and the dragons themselves._

_Well… he didn't curse himself. Or Mister Whispers Agent Suspicious Guy over there. Or… all the others who want to dissolve the Pact._

"Maybe he _didn't_ figure out how to curse everybody." That thought isn't as cheerful as Leon would have guessed. _He just cursed the people who fight dragons._ "Well… who cares, then!" Leon says obstinately. "The Pact Champions and Marshal Trahearne and I and a few others will go pound the dragons into dirt _by ourselves,_ thanks a lot! We don't need you crazies." _But we __do__ need them, and that's the whole point of the Pact. Ugh._

But Leon isn't in the communications department for nothing. _Morale counts as communications, right?_

* * *

Tiffany is investigating a new report of significant threats in the form of Orrian towers. They are dotted all over Pact/Zhaitan contested terrain, even though some of the forces aren't anywhere near the Pact - there are Orrian towers in Chokevine Gorge, far out of the Pact's path. There's even a Bone Ship in the Mire Sea, near another squad investigating the krait.

This has all the warning signs of false; why would the Pact have missed these threats until now? Some are back the way they had come; is this a miscommunication that had only been uncovered recently?

This same information is - somehow - passed to one of her subordinates. Before sending him to Fiona's department to discuss this latest problem, Tiffany calls him in herself.

An excited asura bounces in, beaming. "Hello, Pact Champion Tiffany! I've been looking forward to meeting you."

Tiffany frowns - she recognizes his voice, but she can't quite place it. "I've been told you want to blow up the Orrian towers and the Dead Ship in the Mire Sea?" she asks. She feels like her own words should have told her who he is - she just can't place him! - but she continues, "you do know it is exceedingly dangerous?"

"Dangerous?" the asura blinks. "Of course it's dangerous! My whole job is dangerous. Oh, by the way - Demolitionist Tonn, nice to meet you!"

Tiffany blinks. _Tonn! Of course it was Tonn, I'm so silly._ "Nice to meet you, too, Tonn," she says with a smile. She now has all the confirmation she needs that these Orrian towers - and the Dead Ship - are actually there. The miscommunication must have been in the past. "So, you want to blow up some stuff?"

"Oh, yes," Tonn says sagely, nodding. "The problem is, the areas are infested with Risen, and I can't do it on my own - or even with a few Vigil helping - the way I normally do. I wanted to know if you could send some others out with me?"

"I'll do better, Tonn," Tiffany says, smiling. "I'll go with you myself."

"Hey, how did you know that was what I _actually_ wanted?" Tonn asks in surprise.

Tiffany shrugs. "I didn't. I've just been nervous lately, what with all the communications problems. You're the Pact's best demolitionist, I can't let you go alone." That tidbit of information she does remember, now that she's thinking about Tonn.

And, of course, she has to go along to make sure he doesn't die this time.

* * *

Forgal is _trying_ to make it worth it. He really is. Tiffany had gone through all this effort to save his life - even Deborah had died instead - and now he's stuck on Asvor, and the Order of Whispers, and… it just feels like a waste.

Asvor had been absent for twelve weeks - nearly a whole Season. _She's never been away this long, even ordinarily. She's not coming back._

_But why not? She'd never give up just because I beat her._ She vanished into thin air in the middle of Lion's Arch, according to Tiffany. Forgal reminds himself that he doesn't know her as well anymore - he's barely spoken to her in years - even besides the fact that he had, apparently, never known her to begin with.

All this time, and it still stings. Forty years. They were the closest of friends - like a second companion. _How could she have faked all that?_

Forgal shakes his head to clear it. Thinking in circles again. It doesn't matter why Asvor had disappeared in Lion's Arch - he obviously isn't the center of her world anymore, she has other things to be doing - and since she's gone, he might as well move on. His friendship with Asvor and her betrayal will always be part of his life, but right now, he needs to stop being hung up on the Order of Whispers.

_It's not even a logical suspicion_. Forgal knows the Order is a significant ally, and there is no reason they would be secretly plotting against the Pact - or even just the Vigil - and especially no reason they would be particularly concerned with him.

Beyond his status as a Warmaster of some renown, and a Pact Champion, of course. And if the Order hasn't yet discovered that Tiffany and Fiona have some significant secrets…

_Stop thinking in circles!_

Forgal misses Blackwing. She'd always been able to figure things out, present them in the simplest terms to make it seem as if there was never any question at all. And then tease him about his thickheadedness.

_I live in the past too much. I'm fighting for the future, but all I can think about is the past. They're so… distant from each other._

But he can't figure out which the Whispers problem is. Asvor, and the Order… they don't feel like the past. They feel like _now_, like danger, like warning. And responsibility, and alliance, and loyalty are tying his hands, preventing him from dealing with it.

_That and common sense, logic, and rationale. The Order isn't the enemy._

Not even the communications glitches can be the Order's fault.

* * *

"I understand you have some complaints that you wanted to voice to the other Orders, General?" Trahearne asks. General Almorra had insisted that there be a discussion of the communications problems. Fiona looks stressed out and worried, and Trahearne can sympathize. The other Pact Champions are here as well, of course.

"Indeed I do," Almorra acknowledges. "More Vigil soldiers are dying every day to the Risen. This has been going on for nearly two weeks. With all due respect, Pact Champion Fiona, why haven't you sorted this out by now?"

"I've been trying," Fiona replies tiredly. "None of it makes any sense. People have received instructions from myself that I never gave out, and when I do deliver the message, they forget. I'm doing my best, General, but I'm afraid the problem runs deeper than any one department."

"And you, Pact Champion Vriré?" Almorra asks, a tad more sharply than she'd asked Fiona.

"I've been trying to isolate the problem, General Almorra," Vriré answers promptly. "All my scouts are trustworthy and trained, but they've all been involved in a problem several times each. It can't be a problem with procedure, because that has been followed perfectly even where the miscommunications crop up. My current theory is that the problem is in the field, not in processing or communications."

"Don't send just anyone out to confirm that," Tiffany speaks up. "Whole teams have been dying by under-estimated counts of Risen or by reports of no Risen at all, and as long as that goes on it's unsafe to send anyone out, and most likely futile. I think there's an intelligence behind these miscommunications, and whatever it is isn't going to let an investigation team discover them."

"Pact Champion Vriré," Magister Wynnet speaks up, "have you tried isolating the type of incident that the miscommunications are most common to?"

"Yes, actually," the Champion replies. "I have found an alarming pattern that supports Pact Champion Tiffany's assessment of a behind-the-scenes intelligence. Each Order suffers a glitch in turn, one per day. According to the schedule so far, today is the Priory. If nothing happens to you today, then our enemy intelligence is deliberately throwing us off track." After a moment, she adds, "yesterday was the Order of Whispers, and tomorrow the Vigil will be hit."

"The problems seem to be occurring more frequently than that," Doern points out.

"They are," Vriré agrees. "But there seems to be significant divide between lesser problems and greater ones. Everything on a smaller scale is inefficient, useless, or wrong, but aside from the fact that they aren't major or concerning problems individually, I can't find a pattern."

"Or so you say," Forgal points out coldly, his eyes darting from Vriré to Doern and back again. "We're all dependent on your word for this, Lightbringer."

"The Order of Whispers is suffering problems, too," Fiona reminds him, before Trahearne can say anything, although she is really addressing the group.

"Finding Risen Whispering?" Almorra scoffs. "That's hardly cause for immediate concern. It doesn't harm anything immediately - or ever, if it isn't true."

"You could say the same for our false research," Wynnet fires back. "Some of our records are disappearing and we have to do more research to learn what we lost - and half the time we don't even realize that we're repeating what was already done. Inefficient methods and sloppy procedures mean we can't detect when incorrect discoveries are made and we can't check them against what we already know."

"Your soldiers are dying and your research teams are getting lost," Doern says with a fake sigh. "Our scouts are so incorrect that we could be swarmed this very minute by a horde of Risen that is supposed to be days away." He pauses, as if expecting the Risen to attack, then goes on, "while that is a very distinct possibility, there are very few Vigil soldiers to combat such a threat, because they've all been sent away to fight possibly false reports of Risen in other areas. Oh, and the Priory's Risen-repelling device could be miscalibrated to Renewal as well as, or even instead of, Corruption." Doern pauses to let the implications of that possibility sink in. "Why that hasn't happened yet can be answered by none but the intelligence behind the problems - which may or may not be Zhaitan. They could leave us wide open to attack, but they haven't. Not yet."

"Fear-mongering will help nothing, Preceptor," Almorra snarls.

"Are all the upper ranks of the Order full of deceivers and manipulators?" Forgal asks, a sour note in his voice.

As Trahearne tries to think of a way to stop the argument peaceably, Doern shrugs.

"Not at all," the Preceptor replies blandly, "but of course you won't take my word for it until you aren't bound by alliance and you can try to terrify me with brute strength."

"You're toying with my soldiers like pawns on a chessboard," Almorra growls. "I'm not trusting anyone until they've proven their trustworthiness."

"With all due respect, General," Tiffany speaks up, "we shouldn't go around accusing our allies when we're so vulnerable apart."

"You've always been an advocate for unity, Warmaster," Almorra acknowledges, "but in this situation it is as dangerous to trust as it is not to. Have you not spoken to an ally only to later find that they did not remember, or remembered it differently?"

"I have," Tiffany agrees slowly, "but the Pact can't function if we stop trusting each other."

"Champion," Trahearne says heavily, "we need to isolate the problem. If the problem is in an influential position, ignoring it won't help anything. Nobody wants to distrust our allies, but in the current situation we should be questioning everything and everyone." Trahearne doesn't like saying it, but it's true - and he has to remain objective in his role as Marshal.

Tiffany nods silently, a slight frown marring her face. Through the Dream, she feels frustrated and trapped, but she doesn't have any of the feelings he had half-expected to find - resentful rebellion against him or Almorra for their rejection of her values. Trahearne wonders what this means, but is drawn out of his musings by a snort from Wynnet.

"If this Pact fails and dies, General, you have the Priory's full support in punishing those responsible."

Trahearne frowns, and alarm springs up from Tiffany quicker than the Pale Tree's sprout. _An inter-Order war?_ he sighs. _We can't fight each other - the dragons are too big of a threat._ "Magister, that was un-called for," he tells Wynnet gravely. "Almorra was right - we should be questioning everything and plan for the worst, but we should also hope for the best and assume nothing. Preceptor Doern and Pact Champion Vriré have my full confidence, as do you and General Almorra and the other Champions. Please at least try to cooperate."

"Understood, Marshal," Wynnet replies.

"Now," Trahearne continues, "does anyone have any propositions for how to isolate this threat in the field? The Vigil are the patterned target for tomorrow - Pact Champion Tiffany, are there any operations that are likely to be targeted?"

Tiffany shrugs. "Like Vriré said, we can't isolate the type, but there is a mortar team going to take out a dangerous horde of Risen threatening Firebreak Fort. It's one of our major outposts in the area and it would be a blow to the Pact to lose it. If we could send additional security, anticipating a problem, we might catch something."

Trahearne nods. "Alright. Fiona, Vriré, do either of you have information on how these problems are occurring? What magic or technology is used?"

"One bomb was hidden with the Aspect of Deception," Vriré points out, "and some people have been reported in two places at once, but that is certainly not the only tool at the disposal of the enemy. They're technologically competent, not to mention knowing our procedures and operations. If this mortar team is the subject of another disruption, I would say it is a false report. The Risen may or may not be there, or they may be a distraction - either to the mortar team or to Firebreak Fort - to keep attention away while the real attack is executed. Somebody said that this intelligence is not necessarily Zhaitan - I would like to remind you that even if they aren't, they're still working with Zhaitan. If the subterfuge is going to happen, it probably already has."

"We almost had friendly fire once," Almorra points out. "It can't hurt to send somebody."

"Could the Aspect of Deception be used to disguise enemies as allies?" Wynnet asks.

Fiona shakes her head. "Theoretically, yes, it's possible, but the power requirements would be huge. I think Queen Jennah managed it once when the Branded were attacking Ebonhawke, but that took an hour of preparation and the help of another mesmer, powerful in her own right. And they weren't fighting - weren't even moving. Simulating a whole battle would be nigh impossible, not to mention a waste of power that could be put to better use."

"The Orrians had significantly more magical power - Orr was a magical country - but even for them, using pure mesmeric trickery to force friendly fire would not be a high enough priority to merit the power it would take."

"This mesmer is still doing _something_ to us," Tiffany reminds them. "And we have other operations going on that could be targeted. There are some larger Risen targets - including a Dead Ship - that need to be blown up, and I have a demolitionist itching for the job. I'd already been planning to go with him for this operation, so that's at least one pair of eyes on that. Other than that, I have a squad to the east, in the Mire Sea, but they're dealing with krait."

"We've got scouts probing ahead toward Fort Trinity," Vriré informs them, "but that's Whispers-driven and won't be targeted - or we won't find out about it - until the day after tomorrow."

"Pact Champion Tiffany is going with the one demolitionist," Doern reminds them, "I think that sets the bar for how we watch the others. We can send a Champion to watch the mortar team, and another with the squad dealing with the krait, and see what happens."

"That would leave only one with the Pact," Forgal cautions.

"Well, the mortar mission will be out and back again in a day," Tiffany points out. "It's only the demolitionist and krait missions that are ongoing."

"Then we send Pact Champion Fiona to watch the mortars," Trahearne suggests. "She'll be back in a day and either able to conclusively explain what happened and provide some clues as to how to deal with it, or she won't gather any information and be back watching the communications problems."

"And if she doesn't return?" Wynnet asks. "She's one of the Priory's best Magisters, and this is a Vigil mission."

"I'll take that risk," Fiona says calmly. "I've been itching to get out somewhere anyway, and Agent Nentres can take over for me while I'm gone. And if I don't return, it's likely because we _were_ the subject of another miscommunication, and you'll know where to investigate. But I don't think I'll die."

"Don't be too confident," Almorra warns her.

"At the very least, I can portal myself and as many others as possible out," Fiona reminds the general. "Unless Zhaitan knows my trick of redirecting portals - that is, has Risen one of Destiny's Edge - I'll be fine. It's Tiffany and whoever goes with the krait that you should be worrying about."

"If my best Warmaster can't survive a shady, behind-the-scenes cutthroat, I'll demote myself," Almorra huffs.

"I appreciate your confidence, General," Tiffany replies with a tight smile, "but whoever it is has already taken out several Vigil squads with nothing more than misdirection." Tiffany emanates self-blame over those missing squads, along with the determination to do better and not let it happen again… but there is the seed of doubt connected with the communications problems, and the feeling of being trapped and helpless, a feeling she hates. She has to do something, they're her soldiers, her responsibility.

"Noted," Almorra tells her, as Trahearne glances at Tiffany in surprise at the unusually vivid and detailed feelings coming from her - feelings that mirror his own half the time. "Now, who goes with the squad investigating the krait?"

"Wait, this is the squad containing Crusader Apatia, correct?" Vriré queries.

"Yes, I think so," Tiffany confirms. "Why?"

"She's supposed to report early tomorrow morning," Vriré answers. "We should wait to decide until then. If our hypothesis about the pattern of the Orders is correct, her report will be accurate. The reason she is with your squad is because there are unusually few Risen krait in the area, despite a Dead Ship being near there. She should be able to explain why, and that will influence who we send."

"That sounds wise," Trahearne agrees. "We will wait until Crusader Apatia reports in. I want you and the other Pact Champions on standby."

* * *

"Forgal," Trahearne says as the meeting disperses. "Can I speak to you for a minute?"

"Of course," Forgal says, sounding slightly surprised. "What about?"

"About your… " Trahearne pauses, searching for the right word. "Difficulties with the Order of Whispers."

Forgal sighs. "Look, I'm really sorry about what happened back there. I'm not trying - "

Trahearne holds up a hand, stopping the norn in midsentence. He doesn't like interrupting people, but Forgal is currently agitated, and the current subject matter is not one to be discussed while Forgal is agitated. "Forgal," he says quietly. "I know you know they're only trying to help. I know you're trying not to act… prejudiced. But this is more than trying to keep our meetings civil. This is about the morale of the Pact."

Forgal frowns. "I know I'm not acting rationally about this, but… who is ever going to talk about it? Despite what it may look like, I do know the Order of Whispers is on our side. Spreading rumors about me hurts them, as well."

"It's not the Order of Whispers. It's you. You're not a sylvari, and you're not connected to the Dream, but anyone, sylvari or not, can feel that you're unhappy, perhaps resentful, and certainly nervous and wary. You're on edge. Alert. Keeping an eye out for danger where there is none." Trahearne sighs. "Forgal, what you have to realize is that you are _not_ the only one who feels this way. The majority of the Pact - especially with these glitches - are resentful and perhaps even rebellious, because they don't like the other Orders. Feeling the same from you - a Pact Champion - is only going to reinforce this attitude, no matter the reason. And I'm not even good at sensing these things. Other Vigil - who can easily tell the difference between a relaxed warrior in an ally camp and one on guard - or the Order of Whispers, who know how it feels to be surrounded by enemies - they can all tell."

Forgal sighs again. "I'm sorry, Trahearne, but… like I told Tiffany… I don't know what to do about it. The Order makes me anxious. I feel like Asvor could spring on me at any minute. Like something has been delayed. Asvor was supposed to come back weeks ago, to repay me for besting her in our last fight. That never happened, and now… it's like I'm caught in the middle."

Trahearne frowns. "Would it help to fight an actual opponent? Get all the tension out?"

Forgal shrugs. "I don't know." He shakes his head. "I just don't know. It might help temporarily - I won't be quite so stressed out - but I don't think that's the problem."

"The flower, not the root," Trahearne nods. "Try it. See if it helps. Talk to someone who knows more about these things than I do. But you need to get it worked out, because you are an important figure within the Vigil and one of its representatives, and this can't go on."

"I'll do my best," Forgal assures him.

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

Oh amazingness of _all amazingnesses_ I fixed the biggest problem in the WHOLE STORY! I'd resigned myself to my fate that there would be this one little problem of inconsistency. _And then God went and made me sick and unable to look at a screen for twenty-four hours and I had a lot of time to think and he helped me fix it!_

This was _totally_ worth posting two days late. (And it was _also_ worth being sick, even though it was awful. God is making this story perfect because he has plans for it, and it's _epically awesome._)

Also (and I have to find a way to say this that isn't confusing) but my a-key isn't working. The one on my keyboard, not the Whispers Access Key. You say 'yeah but it IS working though?' and I say it only _looks_ like it is working. I have to hold it down for half a minute sometimes to make it work. (AAnd yet sometimes it's perfectly fine!) Say thank you for all the A's in this chpter. (Especially the bit that was Forgal being frustrated at Asvor. That was a _very necessary_ scene that I didn't know I needed until after I wrote it. This is the fun life of a writer and I love every minute of it.) Also the 1 key isn't working, but only when I hold shift to make an exclamation mark. And also maybe the Z key. But I use those more rarely and so they don't matter as much.

And if you want to see the story about me worrying about the (now-nonexistent) problems in this chapter, check the Tassof Friends Discord server - the code is HwKw8vy. (I pronounce it hw-UHK-w-ate-vee). Or, I don't know, review and ask me to PM it to you on FFN?

Look, guys, I know you're reading the story. The stats on my control board on my account are telling me that about seven people are reading it (and that's minimum). Sorry, seven unique IP addresses. _I want to hear from you guys!_ Seriously! These stats have been constant for several books. So somehow - even though only two people are officially Following the story (and neither of you are on Discord) - you all knew when I started posting _The Unbroken_ again. I've had interactions with some of you (and then there's the guy who read the whole series in four days - kudos to him), so I know you exist and are not just bots. _I want to talk to you._ You know me pretty well by now, having read all these author's notes. It's my turn now!


	9. Chapter 8: Silent Threats

THE UNBROKEN

* * *

Summary: It _has been decided_ there are no more summaries. I did kind of like them… but anyway, the dedication this time is to me, for two things: not noticing until the very last episode of LW Season 4 that 'Pact Commander' is _also_ abbreviated to 'PC,' and also for realizing that no matter how easy it is for me to post on Mondays when I said I would, I can't keep a schedule for more than a month or so. I _literally_ had this ready yesterday morning, and again yesterday evening, but didn't post because _reasons_ that are too long to go into details on in a summary/dedication.

* * *

Chapter eight: Silent Threats

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

My a-key is still not working. Good thing I didn't have to add a whole extra scene like I did last chapter.

I have realized something. I have become really, really bad with chapter names. (and remembering what things they go to… this is a byproduct of writing it all at once and then dividing into 7k word increments. _sigh_)

_**Okay, here's the story now:**_

* * *

"Pact Champion Fiona!" Nentres calls, rushing into the tent.

"Yeah? What?" Fiona asks, drawing on the Dream to drown out the urgency emanating from the sylvari. She'd just been putting everything away so she could head to bed early, because of her tenuous engagement with the mortar team tomorrow.

"We've got new information on what happened to the Spar Warband. Another team was lost near krait territory in the Mire Sea - and they didn't rise again, either!"

"Wait, seriously?" Fiona says, giving Nentres her full attention. "Tell me exactly what happened."

"A team led by Crusader Apatia went to the Restless Deeps to rescue the krait slaves. They got away successfully, but they were ambushed by Risen on the way out, and only Crusader Apatia and a few of the escapees got away. But the dead didn't rise."

"Come on, Nentres, I want a full report!" Fiona groans.

"I'm sorry, Champion, I don't know any more," Nentres says with a frown. "Crusader Apatia is reporting to Pact Champion Vriré about it. That might be another glitch."

"Well, let's have a Champion-plus-Crusader Apatia meeting," Fiona decides. "Can you tell Tiffany and Forgal that Crusader Apatia's report has come in, and to get to Vriré's office? I'll get Marshal Trahearne."

"Yes, Champion," Nentres replies promptly.

* * *

"Agent Fiona, what are you doing here?" Vriré asks as the mesmer enters her office with Trahearne.

"I heard Crusader Apatia had reported in with an incident similar to the Spar Warband. I thought we should all discuss our next move. Tiffany and Forgal should be here soon."

Vriré frowns for a moment. "Alright then." She glances at the Crusader, wondering if she should send her away, but decides against it. Additional information might be necessary.

The Warmasters arrive a moment later. The reddish glow of a Whispers A-Key with a name reading Nentres remains outside. "Agent Nentres, go back to your post," Vriré says firmly, and the glow moves away. "Now, to business; Crusader Apatia has reported that the krait have an orb that keeps out Zhaitan's Corruption. It prevents the dead from rising."

A skeptical silence fills the room.

"That's obviously fake, Lightbringer," Warmaster Forgal says, sounding frustrated.

"Isn't this a little _too_ convenient?" Tiffany says skeptically. "As far as we know, nothing is capable of _blocking_ Corruption. What about other dragons - does this orb affect their corruption?"

"For one, Initiate, blocking dragon corruption is not unheard of. All sylvari are immune - to all dragons, I might add. For two, we don't have the orb with us, so we can't see if it works the same way. However, I would agree with you, except that for Warmaster Forgal's point that it is obviously fake. The very fact that it is so obvious is a clue as to its veracity. In addition, it answers the question of what happened to the Spar Warband - and now Crusader Apatia's team."

"It almost makes too much sense," Fiona says slowly. "I may just be getting suspicious of everything, what with trying to decipher these problems for the last two weeks, but what if it's designed to throw us off the trail?"

"Agent, if we assume that everything is a trap, we'll never get anything done," Vriré says firmly. "Better to act as if they were true and go overkill than to overlook what could be a significant asset because we're paranoid."

"But you're very paranoid," Tiffany points out with a hint of amusement.

"Within reason and only when I need to be, Initiate," Vriré snaps. "Marshal Trahearne, I propose that I and another Champion go and investigate this intelligence."

"I believe Forgal is the only Champion without a mission to oversee," Trahearne notes, glancing at the norn. "And, Forgal," he adds before he has a chance to protest, "please remember that we will not be capable of isolating you from the Order of Whispers forever. In addition, you already know Vriré."

"With all due respect, Marshal, I don't feel safe on the battlefield with a Whispers agent," Forgal says stiffly.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Vriré replies dryly. Forgal crosses his arms and stares at her, anger reflected in his eyes. Vriré stares back at him impassively. She is perfectly fine with his ongoing hatred of the Order and his dislike of her personally - in fact, she prefers it that way. Fewer complications. _But not when it's blockading Pact operations._ "Warmaster, be assured that the only reason I wish you with me is because it is suicide to send only two operatives - I and Crusader Apatia - into enemy territory in any role other than scout and espionage. Three is hardly better, but on this mission I don't want to risk any extra allies being compromised."

Forgal clenches his jaw and stares at her silently.

"Crusader, do you mind… mediating these two?" Tiffany asks.

Apatia glances between the two. "I suppose I must," she says resignedly.

"Alright, that's it," Tiffany says cheerfully. "Apatia's in charge, both of you two listen to her."

Vriré glances between Forgal and the Crusader who is now her superior. _An…unconventional compromise, but I suppose it works. If Forgal doesn't blow up about it._

"Do you have a plan?" Fiona asks the Crusader.

Crusader Apatia blinks. "Well, yes," she says. "The krait prisoners I rescued mentioned a largos who'd got herself captured to get close to the krait, and then escaped. I was thinking of tracking her down and trying to talk to her."

"Very bold," Trahearne comments. "The largos are a race of assassins and hunters, but even I have not heard of one escaping on her own before."

Vriré glances at him curiously - she hadn't known largos were a part of his sphere of study.

Crusader Apatia nods. "Yes, but we're not trying to fight her. Just talk to her. The norn are also hunters, so we have something in common."

_Two norn and an asura, out to catch a largos,_ Vriré notes._ Possibly stranger than believing we have what it takes to kill an Elder Dragon. And don't forget the part about the krait orb that stops Corruption._ "Do you have a lead on this largos?" Vriré asks.

"Yes - the Treacherous Depths, south of the Restless Deeps. The prisoners said she was heading south, so I was thinking of looking there first."

"Very well," Trahearne says. "But take care not to antagonize her. The largos can be impatient."

* * *

The discussion goes on for some time, during which Fiona is told the details of her mission - go to Firebreak Fort and find Warmaster Caisson, and help her mortar team demolish the Risen. Unluckily enough, this discussion had resulted in Fiona getting to bed much later than she would have liked, and - combined with her many late nights over the last few weeks - this leaves her more tired the next morning than she would have liked.

But this mission needs to be overseen, so, Fiona heads to Firebreak Fort. While looking for Warmaster Caisson, she overhears conversations between Pact soldiers in the camp - misplaced supplies, missing people, misheard orders - and she grimaces. While she knows none of the communications glitches discussed can possibly be her department's fault, she is still responsible for it. Hopefully this investigation will help.

She finally finds the norn in charge. "Warmaster Caisson?" she checks. "I am Pact Champion Fiona. Marshal Trahearne said you have a sensitive mission you want to pull off, so I'm here to ensure it goes smoothly - and possibly investigate anything that goes wrong to see what the problem is."

"Glad to hear it," Caisson replies, relief in her voice. "This one is too dangerous for crossed signals. I've got the best-trained artillery crews in the entire Pact, but they keep making rookie mistakes. I don't get it." She shakes her head in frustration.

Fiona nods, her interest peaking. "Alright. Where do you want me?" At least this is field work. Maybe she can break out Deception for once in weeks. Even just having her foci with her had brightened the day with her sixth sense.

"My mortar team is heading out right now to deal with the Risen threat - they're massing to the south, and the Pact needs to deal with them before pressing on to Fort Trinity."

Fiona nods. "Understood - I'll see the mission a success, Warmaster."

"I'll escort you to their location," Caisson tells her. "Follow me."

When they arrive, Caisson explains the situation to her mortar team. "You take care of the logistics, but PC - er, Pact Champion Fiona calls the shots. Clear? Good. Now move out."

Fiona smiles in amusement at the abbreviation - seemingly Pact slang, amusingly enough*- while Crusader Blackpowder - the charr in charge of the mission - repeats the command to his soldiers.

Blackpowder seems a bit talkative as they head to their destination - hindered by many groups of Risen - but he seems capable enough, as well as being the sort who'd make Tiffany laugh if she was here.

Fiona gets a chance to bring the Aspect of Deception out of her back pocket again - where it had been sitting since Fort Concordia - and her general mood and energy levels improve considerably as the magic flows through her. She is soon chatting with Blackpowder, and lashing out at any and all Risen, just to stretch her magic muscles.

Blackpowder tells her they're going to set up on a bridge - the Risen will pass under it, but the mortars will cut them down. Fiona wonders if this will turn out like some of the other ambush missions the Pact had sent out - waiting for hours with no Risen in sight.

Blackpowder has the mortars set up and readied anyway, though, and Fiona realizes how much people have to depend on her communications, even if they are faulty. Her determination to solve this problem firms - as if it hadn't been rock-hard resolve already.

After only fifteen minutes of waiting, Blackpowder calls out, "ah, there they are! PC Fiona, your orders?"

Fiona surveys the situation. The Risen are approaching the bridge in no particular order - shambling around with no organization. Fiona frowns as she realizes that there is Deception being used, though she can't tell how much, nor how far away it is. She reaches out with her own Deception and encounters a veil of some sort, distorting her vision.

Before she can probe it, however, it retaliates. A shock runs through her staff and up her arm. Fiona gasps and flexes her fingers around the wood. _Whatever else, they're enemies._ "Fire at will!" she shouts. There has to be something there to disguise, else the veil wouldn't exist.

As the mortars' heavy loads come crashing down into the Risen, Fiona observes them closely; they seem to behave like normal - or normal for Risen - at being fired at. They swarm even more crazily than before, and - although at this distance Fiona can't see the individual Risen particularly well - they seem to be reacting fairly uniquely. _The illusion is at least based on individuals underneath, then, Risen or not. It's not a complete simulation._

"Ha!" Blackpowder roars. "The first rule of artillery warfare: there's no kill like overkill! Get down there and mop up those undead cretin. Lead the way, Champion!"

Fiona creates a portal down from the bridge and steps through warily, ready for anything. The artillery team follows behind her. The marshy land before her is blackened and burnt from the mortar shells, and bodies are strewn across the field of fire.

Vigil bodies.

"What!" Blackpowder hollers as he takes in the scene. "These are friendlies! We just shelled an entire platoon of our own troops!"

Fiona just stares at the carnage - Vigil bodies everywhere, many burned and blackened from the artillery fire. She is vaguely aware of Caisson and Blackpowder searching for survivors. This is bad. This is really, really bad. Worse than any of the other miscommunications. She, Fiona, had given the go-ahead to fire. And now, a hundred Vigil troops are dead. _Whatever is behind this is really, really powerful._

She'd thought that the illusion would have originated from among the ranks of those under disguise, but it seems a third party was involved. _What did we look like to them? Were we Risen?_ Fiona grimaces as she realizes the individuals she'd been closely observing for signs of realism were Vigil, panicking over being shot down helplessly from above. _I hope they thought we were Risen. It would be kinder._

But now, Fiona's job is to locate the mesmer that had engineered this illusion. And figure out why anyone had gone to such trouble and expense to facilitate friendly fire. Fiona glances around warily, and picks her way through the pockmarked graveyard of Vigil bodies. It's frightening. These had all been extremely well-trained Vigil - unless _this_ is the illusion. Fiona pauses. _That's terrifying, but impossible. I sensed the illusion over the Risen, and there is no Deception here now._ But at the same time, her confidence in her own senses - including her ability to detect Deception - is heavily shaken.

She reaches to the Dream for reassurance, as had become the norm when she is stressed out, and suddenly wonders how she can possibly do her Wyld Hunt if she can do nothing about the problems pulling at the Pact's seams - with this, the crowning achievement of their adversary. Friendly fire. The fact that it was Vigil shelling Vigil will go unnoticed under the fact that a Priory Magister and Whispers Agent was the one to give the order. The fact that she is also an honorary member of the Vigil means that the Vigil will be the ones in the least position to grant her any leeway, and might even see her as a traitor for lack of any other target.

Fiona takes a deep breath as the Dream calms her._ I'm on-site at the location of the miscommunication. I and the others with me are the subjects of it. This is my chance to find it._

She goes over to Blackpowder, to verify that he had seen Risen, but he glares at her.

"Did anyone train you to verify your targets before you give the command to open fire?" Blackpowder snarls, and Fiona nearly flinches.

_Actually, no, they didn't, I'm not a troop commander,_ is the first response that pops into her head, but she doesn't say it. That's not the concern here, anyway, and she _had_ verified… or so she thought. _I knew I should have gone to bed early._ "This doesn't make sense," Fiona frowns, trying to make sense of what had happened. There's no narrowing down this time - she _is_ the last and only discrepancy. Somehow. "They were Risen, I saw them."

Blackpowder shrugs, a nasty snarl on his face. "Whatever. You gave the order to fire on allied troops."

Fiona winces at the curse. If in any situation it was a serious curse, it is here. It doesn't matter that she'd seen Risen, she should have checked more closely - not instinctively attacked. That shock-retaliation could have been anything from an un-subtle mesmer trying to figure out who's there to a panicked warning telling her _not_ to attack. She should have investigated further. Using Deception to engineer friendly fire had been _specifically discussed_ yesterday! _I __know__ I make stupid decisions when I'm tired, I should have been smarter than this._

She had given the order - this is her fault, her failure, her responsibility. She only hopes she can fix it - well, as much as this sort of thing can be fixed. It would take a miracle to bring these soldiers back to life, but perhaps Fiona can salvage the situation and figure out how it happened.

"Heads up, we've got a survivor," Caisson reports suddenly.

Fiona heads over to Caisson. _Maybe they'll know what that illusion was about - or even if it was a Vigil illusion. I can assume nothing._ She finds the norn supporting an injured female charr that radiates Deception. A mesmer, then. Maybe she can explain it.

"Smodur's eye!" the charr snarls, spitting blood. "You just called down fire on our own troops!"

"Yes, I know," Fiona says wearily. "I'm trying to figure out what happened. We all saw undead." _Wait, did we?_ She hadn't gotten around to asking Blackpowder. She might have been the only one who saw.

"Just get me back to base," the charr snarls. "I need a medic - and half my force is still in Mount Maelstrom. They're waiting for me to extract them. You want to make this right, go get them out - unless you plan to blow up _them_, too?"

"No, of course not," Fiona replies trying to reign in her frustration. There is a tinge of fear on the edge of her mind. She isn't sure of anything anymore. "Although if you don't trust me, I don't see why you're asking." As the charr opens her mouth again, Fiona snaps, "If you want to provide relevant information, do so - if not, I suggest you go find your medic."

Fiona scowls at her as Blackpowder leads the injured charr away. _She_ obviously doesn't have any information on the illusion, and she certainly wasn't the one to cast it. _Detective work. When the enemy is an Orrian mesmer. Amazing._ Her head hurts just thinking about it.

"Not your best day's work," Caisson notes as Blackpowder leads the injured charr away. "How are you going to fix this?"

"I'm _trying_ to figure it out," Fiona sighs irritably. "Who is she?"

"Tactician Syska, of the Vigil, Champion," Caisson replies. "Her platoon - well, you just shelled her platoon."

"I know," Fiona snaps. She finds that she can't quite bring herself to care about being nice right now. "I _do_ have eyes."

"Your eyes have been faulty before," Caisson reminds her, before leaving to look for more survivors.

Scowling after her - although that does nothing to relieve Fiona's mood, and she feels slightly guilty for it - Fiona squeezes her eyes shut against a headache that had been building. With a sigh, she makes her way to where Tactician Syska is resting.

"Go on, get out of my sight," Syska snarls. "Marshal Trahearne will hear about your incompetence, 'Pact Champion.'"

Fiona's fatigued mind barely registers the words and she just looks at Syska blankly for a moment. Suddenly, she realizes that the charr is radiating Deception, both as a wielder _and_ the subject of some enchantment - and is also the only survivor of the entire platoon.

_Of course. You don't think the mastermind would die in her own fabricated attack, now, do you? I'm so stupid when I'm tired._

Fiona reaches out with Deception and probes Syska's disguise - such a boldfaced attack as she normally would never dream of. She tries to pull on the weaves, expressing her frustration and anger in a sheer use of magical power. She isn't unraveling the weaves with a deft touch, she isn't redirecting their purpose into something else, she isn't blending her magic with Syska's. She's just… pulling.

That was the wrong choice, and not just because nothing happens. Deception doesn't like it, but this just pushes Fiona's frustration over the top. She _will_ do this. She's a powerful wielder of Deception. And so she pours all her magic into her attempt, her weaves solidifying with the energy she is putting into them.

After a moment of nothing happening, Fiona realizes, with a sinking sense of horror, that her failure isn't due to Deception not liking her and leaving her weaker - her failure is due to the fact that Syska isn't letting her. Syska is stronger than she is. Much stronger. Fiona slowly looks up at the now standing charr, who does not look injured at all anymore, and terror sets in. _Trahearne __said__ Orrians were stronger magically… but Syska just spent everything on that illusion!_

She frantically tries to pry open the weaves, but she can feel her power draining away as she puts more and more of it into her now-solid flows of magic, pushing and straining against the iron weaves of Deception Syska is using.

Fiona doesn't need her sixth sense to tell her what the magic is doing - she can see it. They are both wrestling with fully visible, solid, and strong flows of the normally sneaky Deception, testifying to the amounts of power the both of them are throwing around - or, in Syska's case, holding fast. The fact that Fiona is essentially - and almost literally - beating on a brick wall for all the effect she is having doesn't faze her. This is her chance to make a major breakthrough in the communication problems, to support Tiffany and the Pact - one mesmer won't stand in her way.

Slowly, though, her weaves lose power and become invisible again, scrabbling uselessly against Syska's shield as her strength drains away. Like a baby trying to pry open a can of corn, she can't do it, but like the baby, she doesn't give up until her fading magical strength - coupled with the physical exhaustion that comes with it - leaves her panting and vulnerable.

And she portals - not under her own power, but Syska's, kidnapped under the noses of her own soldiers. She comes out in a cage of some sort, and slumps to the ground, even more exhausted than before. Defeated, helpless, and now responsible for anything and everything that Syska does. And also, very likely, quite at Syska's mercy.

* * *

The stress and worry of the last few weeks is noticeably absent as Tiffany, Tonn, and two Crusaders - one named Gilley, the other Gutfire - journey toward the first of the targets. Unlike recently, when Tiffany hadn't known what was going to happen next and people kept dying, now things are _normal_. As normal as they can be, at least, given that Tiffany fills the role of the Commander. She is out doing 'story missions' that she remembers alongside characters she likes, and nothing in particular is happening - mostly casual banter and joking.

"So you blow stuff up for a living?" Tiffany asks, her interest not diminished by the fact that she knows the answer already.

"Oh, yes," Tonn nods. "Like I always tell my wife, Ceera; any lump can hack bad guys to death, but it takes skill and style to turn them into craters and dust. However, setting up explosives takes time and a predicted location, and those are what we don't have when confronted with ordinary undead."

"So Beorn and I are the lumps that hack bad guys to death?" Tiffany guesses, and Tonn laughs.

"Yes, exactly!" he tells her.

They had journeyed several days out of the Pact's path to an island to the west. The general terrain, as Tiffany had seen it on the map, reminds her of Bloodtide Coast, but she knows they are much farther south than that.

* * *

After four days - on the thirty-ninth - they reach an island with no name. Islands, Tiffany had noted, are very common in this part of Tyria, and most civilization on them is either hostile or small and temporary - asuran researchers who don't bother to name the island their lab is situated on. This island, however, is where three of Tonn's targets - Orrian towers - are located.

"Your job," Tonn tells Tiffany, as they arrive, "is to get me to the targets and keep the enemy off me while I plant the charges. Then we drop back, settle in, and enjoy the spectacle pyrotechnical."

"Pyrotechnical," Tiffany repeats. "I like that word. Plus, it rhymes with 'spectacle.'"

"Ha! I'll make a demolitionist out of you yet," Tonn chuckles. "Like I'm always telling Ceera, if you hang around a demolitionist too long, you become one. Ceera's just immune, you see. Anyway, the Orrian towers are in that direction." He gestures, and takes off down the beach, followed by Tiffany, Beorn, and Crusader Gutfire, leading the pack bull loaded with Tonn's equipment.

"I love charr-conditioned animals," Tonn says happily. "Nothing fazes them: explosions, massacres, rude language…"

Tiffany has to suppress a laugh at the last one. "Do they normally react to rude language?" she asks.

Tonn winks at her. "You'll never find out unless you try it," he says matter-of-factly, but there is humor in his tone.

Tiffany grins.

"Okay," Tonn says suddenly, pointing ahead of them. "There's the first tower. I'll set the charges, you keep the locals at bay."

There are a lot of Risen, as it turns out - more than Tiffany had expected, given their total absence earlier. Tiffany and Beorn, working in total sync as usual, easily take down the Risen alongside the two Crusaders, but it proves to be harder than simply chopping the limbs and heads off of mindless undead that don't know how to hold a weapon. These Risen are smart enough to evade attacks and fight back in a more effective manner.

Soon enough, however, after fighting through a dark cavern, they arrive at the first tower. The Vigil fight off the Risen while Tonn prepares the explosives.

"Stand clear," Tonn warns. "This baby's ready to blow!"

Tiffany glances at the tower in time to see it explode in a brilliant light show.

"Whoa! Still got all your limbs?" Tonn checks. "Excellent. Come on, more towers await us!"

Tonn sets off seemingly at random, and Tiffany trails along behind him with a frown. He must have studied a map of this area quite extensively - that or… Tiffany peers at Tonn. He's looking at a map with a green star. She finds herself unable to suppress a snort of laughter.

Tonn glances at her in confusion. "Something funny?" he asks, seeming lost.

"No," Tiffany says, trying to keep a straight face. "I just sneezed."

Tonn shrugs, then leads them unerringly to the next tower. "I love this part," he confides. "The anticipation of the explosion is what makes the blast itself so sweet and tasty. Onward!"

Tiffany grins. "Anticipation is always the best part," she agrees. It had taken them several days of rough journeying to reach this island and these targets, and she is about to enjoy the explosions as much as she can.

When they arrive at the tower, Tonn announces, "secondary target: acquired!" Then, he chuckles. "I love this military talk. It makes blowing stuff up sound so _classy_."

Tiffany laughs. "What did you blow up before you joined the Pact?" she asks. She is suddenly struck by what she and Fiona had managed to accomplish since coming to Tyria. She is now talking to an _asura_ about _blowing things up_ and the _Pact_. Such a conversation would have had her running around the house, unable to express her joyful energy any other way, back on earth. Now… it's _normal._ _How far we've come in seven months,_ Tiffany marvels.

"Oh, it depends!" Tonn enthuses. "Sometimes I'd blow out places for basements, other times I'd demolish buildings so they could be replaced… once I was even hired to prove the indestructibility of one! I didn't get that one on the first try, but it went up eventually."

"That sounds interesting," Tiffany notes.

"The fuse is lit!" Tonn says happily, waving her back. "Not literally, of course, but still: duck!"

After the explosion, Tiffany asks, "what do you mean, not literally?"

"This isn't black powder, Champion," Tonn chuckles, "and it's not magic. It's technology of my own design; I'm afraid it would be too hard to explain if you haven't been educated in one of the Colleges - no offense, of course."

"None taken," Tiffany replies. She is interested in the behind-the-scenes of how things work, but she'd always deferred to the superior intellect of the asura, even on earth.

Tonn nods. "Well, there's one more tower to take down, but we have to go through the cave to get there. Let's go!"

As they approach the last tower, Tiffany's attention is diverted by Tonn calling out humorously, "special delivery for… " he pauses as if checking something, "Orranian Tower. Anybody home? No? Then I'll just leave it here."

"Did you mispronounce that on purpose?" Tiffany asks, amused.

"What? Oh, yes," Tonn replies sagely. "Can't do without insulting the undead once in a while."

"I know exactly what you mean," Tiffany agrees.

"Almost done!" Tonn notes. "One more bomb, and then we do the Dance of Explosive Joy."

Tiffany laughs as the tower explodes. No mission had gone this smoothly since the Pact passed Fort Concordia.

"Now that's a fireworks show!" Tonn says admiringly. "Come on, there are targets all around the area that Zhaitan's minions are covering. There are Risen - and other threats - dotted all along the route the Pact has taken so far. It's a pity Marshal Trahearne didn't think of explosives sooner, but that just means less waiting in between explosions." Tonn grins. "Win-win situation for me, and for the Pact," he tells Tiffany, and she agrees.

* * *

Successfully dealing with the communications problems, as the goal of Fiona's mission, had failed rather spectacularly. Fiona's soldiers are likely dead by now, and Fiona's confident assertion to General Almorra two days ago that she could handle any danger… well, 'I didn't get enough sleep last night' is such a lame excuse that Fiona isn't going to bother to say it. It would be insulting.

Fiona's stupidity had cost many lives already, even before she was captured. Now, she's not with Tiffany - where she should be for the most effective pursuit of her Wyld Hunt - and she's not with the Pact, the second-best place to be for attaining that goal. The Pact is missing a Champion, plus her role as head of the communications department. And the Pact doesn't know what had happened, so the whole point of her mission is lost, the trail gone cold. _And where they'll find another mesmer powerful enough to dream of fighting Syska…_

Fiona shakes her head and glares at the rickety wooden wall of her cage. Victory over the communications problem was almost within her grasp, and she could have easily obtained it if she hadn't tried to break a disguise by yanking on it with _Deception_.

That, of course, had put her in the most dangerous situation in the world - fighting a powerful mesmer that is _also_ sneaky enough to use the power in a Deceptive manner. Deception has two targets for hosts; sneaky people and the not-so-sneaky people who have enough promise. The not-so-sneaky people are more powerful in Deception to make up for it; the sneaky people are less powerful. The difference is generally expressed in thief vs mesmer. However, sometimes, somebody will be sneakier than Deception thought at first, so that they are powerful _and_ sneaky. This is the type of person that Syska is - only _really_ powerful. _Maybe in life she was the most obvious person in the world, but then she was Risen and Zhaitan's sneakiness had control of her power. _And Fiona had been using non-sneaky tactics against it, which only worsened her position. _Plus, native Orrian._

All Syska had had to do was resist Fiona's efforts, and Fiona magically exhausted herself. _But… why go to all that effort?_ Stupid question. It was because of Fiona herself - a valuable Pact officer. Why she isn't dead yet is anyone's guess. _And I'll never go without my foci again, no matter how much I won't be using it._ Her foci - her staff and sword - are her eyes into the world of Deception. Without them, she is blind. _I should never have set them down from the day I knew we __might__, __possibly__ be dealing with mesmers._

It had been twenty-four hours since she was portaled here, and Fiona tries to console herself with the idea that she _did_ significantly weaken Syska, and now she has to recover. _Didn't do much good though. She'll be back to kill me as soon as she's reattained invulnerable status._

Fiona isn't particularly concerned by this, in and of itself - she knows that she has the Dream, and while she might not know _as much_ about the Tyrian afterlife, she does know that most of the same principles from earth probably still apply, at least to Dreamers. What concerns her is her Wyld Hunt - she can't easily support Tiffany if she's dead - but mostly the problem is that if she dies here, the Pact will never fix the communications glitches. Doern's point two days ago had been very compelling.

Fiona draws on the Dream, and it reassures her. It has a plan, it always does. _Is __this__ my trials for growth?_ she wonders.

A cruel-sounding laugh comes from outside the cage Fiona is in. A Risen human - a rather tall woman - steps into her line of sight. Fiona can't sense the Deception - her foci hadn't been with her when she portaled - but she knows it's there.

"Are you afraid, Champion of the Pact?" the Risen asks with a sneer. "Am I going to kill you, Fiona?"

Well, Syska knows her name. Isn't _that_ comforting. It is, Fiona has to admit, rather expected - everybody knows the names of the Pact Champions, and everybody knows about the terrible job that PC Fiona has been doing in the communications department. And of course the one behind it all would know the name of her adversary. Fiona remains silent, and just stares at the Risen mesmer.

"No, I am not going to kill you," Syska decides, after a long moment of silence. "I am going to let you die of…" she pauses, considering. "You know, I think I'll leave that up to the Flame Legion."

"The Flame Legion?" Fiona asks with a frown. "What do they have to do with this?"

"Nothing," Syska cackles, "and that's the beauty of it. They do what I tell them and no more or less!"

"Why?" Fiona asks… _nevermind._ She isn't all that curious, suddenly, about how this Risen mesmer convinces the living to do what she wants them to.

"You'll see," Syska smirks. The Risen uses Deception to take away Fiona's sight temporarily, and without her foci, Fiona can't tell what else Syska is doing. Fiona is roughly dragged from the cage and pushed through a portal. When she comes out, she falls into another, and another, and another, almost as if Syska is catching her in mid-air for convenience. Fiona imagines herself falling from one portal to another in a blank fog that is mesmeric blindness, with Syska falling next to her, on and on in an endless chain.

After several minutes, of this, it becomes clear that Syska is traveling more long-distance, and Fiona realizes that she should not be surprised - Syska is extra-super-duper powerful, of course she would be able to travel long distances with a portal chain. She probably has a longer portal range anyway, not to mention energy to spare.

As Fiona's other senses get knocked out of whack with all the portaling, and the world is tumbling over, sideways and under, Fiona's thoughts return to the Pact, Tiffany, and her Wyld Hunt. The Dream is in control - the Dream could have prevented her from getting captured if it wanted to. If she dies, the Pact fails, Tiffany fails… there's obviously a need for both her own and Tiffany's Wyld Hunts… why would the Dream be letting this happen?

_I don't know, and I don't have to,_ Fiona reminds herself. _The Dream has a plan for getting me out of this alive - or maybe it doesn't, and has a plan for continuing to support Tiffany even if I'm dead._ Well. In that case, she might as well have a lot of fun _dying_. In whatever painful manner the Flame Legion decide to inflict on her for being both female _and_ a human - the Flame Legion probably didn't participate in the Ebonhawke Treaty.

Great, _painful_ death.

Suddenly, the world stabilizes. Fiona blinks, dizzy, but she's still blind as a bat.

"We'll camp here for the night," Syska declares, and after that everything is silent.

Fiona shivers as a chilly wind blows - Syska must be bringing her into the Shiverpeaks. _To… Hoelbrak, then take the gates to Lion's Arch, then the Black Citadel?_ Whatever Syska's plans are, Fiona can do nothing about them, and sitting in the chilly wind won't help anything. She wonders if Syska has her foci - _no, that's useless. She's too powerful, even if I did have them._

* * *

The next morning, Syska takes her through more portal chains. Fiona's prediction about going through the asura gates turns out to be correct, and then Fiona is promptly tossed through another portal, and she resigns herself to her fate. Well, the dizzying-spinning-portaling fate, anyway. Not necessarily the slow-painful-death fate. _Death I can handle. It's the slow-painful part to which I'm putting up objections._

Tiffany is going to go _berserk_. After Deborah's death, Fiona's is going to come heavily. Especially since Tiffany, who very involved in coming up with this plan, has a hero-complex mostly centered around saving the lives of people she cares about. _Captured by an evil dragon minion, dragged halfway across the world, and killed. Sounds like Heart of Thorns to me._ Fiona briefly ponders whether Deception's links to mind magic are close enough for Tiffany to draw parallels to Mordremoth. _Who am I kidding, of course she will._

Great, her death is going to bother a lot of people. Sieran is going to _flip_. If her earth family ever manage to contact them again, _they_ are going to have some _problems_ with ArenaNet or whoever it was that sent herself and Tiffany to Tyria. _Actually, that sounds like a wacky fan-fiction,_ Fiona notes to herself bemusedly. _Maybe somebody can write this story. And they'd have to post it on FFN because nobody would believe it was true.**_

Syska stops for the night again - _how far away are we going? We must be halfway through Ascalon by now_ \- again in complete silence.

* * *

After traveling for the better part of the next day, her sight returns at last, and she glances around to get her bearings. She is in a Branded wasteland - the very ground has been crystallized, each grain of dirt, every blade of grass, now the purple corruption of Branding. Here and there spikes of crystal stab up from the ground, where some alteration in the composition of the soil caused Kralkatorrik's Branding to affect it differently.

Syska disguises herself as the female charr Vigil Tactician - _I guess her name isn't actually Syska, that would be the name of the person whose identity she stole_ \- before forcing Fiona toward an encampment that Fiona hadn't noticed before - all Branded over and crystalline itself. It hadn't been built on top of the Brand, meaning it is more than five years old. Syska's superior physical strength - she had masqueraded as a warrior to keep suspicion of being a mesmer off of her - ensures that, even without the restraints formed of Deception, Fiona can't escape.

Within the Branded camp, there are Flame Legion. They had apparently driven the Branded out and settled in fairly well, believing the Flame-hunting charr that had taken down the Citadel of Flame wouldn't look for them in the Dragonbrand. The fact that they are probably right does nothing to help Fiona's optimism.

They are met by a Flame warrior, who - wonder of all wonders - actually winces when he sees Syska. Flame charr look down on females so much, Fiona is surprised he'd acknowledged Syska's presence.

"Syska," the charr growls. "What is it today?"

"A prisoner, and the usual, Kadon," Syska replies, never letting go of Fiona.

"Great," Kadon replies sarcastically. "And what are we to do with a sniveling _human_?"

"Keep her in a cell, work her like the other females, I don't care," Syska tells him. "Just don't execute her. Dying of starvation or some other, equally torturous method is perfectly fine, however. I want her miserable."

_Oh, great. Now she's encouraging them._ Forget painful, it's going to be _slow_.

The Flame warrior's eyes light up in glee. "Oh, excellent. Centurion Clawburn will love this. And the usual, you said?" Kadon turns around and shouts, "hey, Koltir! Get over here, Syska's got more!"

Another charr comes bounding out of the darkness on all-fours, in the sinuous, catlike movement that Fiona had always identified as 'out-of-combat' running. _What? I mained a charr character, of course those game-y things would stick with me this long,_ she grumbles to herself.

"I'll handle the prisoner," Kadon tells Syska. "Koltir will handle the weaponry."

Syska shoves Fiona toward him, releasing the Deception binding them together. Fiona turns and tries to run, but Kadon catches her within two steps. "Not so fast, female," he snarls at her, spitting 'female' as an insult. "You're coming with me."

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

First off: yep. Scary stuff going on.

I am seriously hesitant to post this. I've already encountered the phenomenon called _once you post it you can't change it_ and it's honestly kind of terrifying. This chapter is the start of the most serious bits, so…

* 'PC' being 'Pact slang' for 'Pact Champion' - yes, this has been mentioned before, but only by Leon, whom Fiona thinks is the sort of person who would make such an amusing abbreviation. And by Captain Seal, but he's a sailor and maybe a pirate (either I didn't decide or I forget) so that's expected from his as well. (And also doesn't count as 'Pact slang' since he's not Pact, haha.) Other than that, just Tiffany herself, who of course would notice such a thing. But it becoming 'Pact slang' is really hilarious. (I initially planned this to be an official thing, but decided it was a bit forced that way and so re-configured it into its current form.)

Anyway. This thing with the fun 'I have author's notes for you about this bit' star:

\- If her earth family ever manage to contact them again, _they_ are going to have some _problems_ with ArenaNet or whoever it was that sent herself and Tiffany to Tyria. _Actually, that sounds like a wacky fan-fiction,_ Fiona notes to herself bemusedly. _Maybe somebody can write this story. And they'd have to post it on FFN because nobody would believe it was true.**_

_**_ Yes, this totally did actually happen. And I just named my FFN pseudonym after Tiffany so that I could pretend to be this most awesome person. And I did point out in Book One that Tyria's Real. Abso-total-lutely.

Fiona dies, is reincarnated on earth as the Tassof family's new little baby, and has written this story.

Yes, I am my sister's biggest fan. She's the awesomest person in the world. Maybe I can convince somebody else to go to Tyria and finish my Wyld Hunt.

And you have no idea how weird this story has been, writing from my sister's perspective. She didn't die, she's still in Tyria running a revenge crusade against the dragons as all her friends and family keep dying. (AKA more people die than in the actual game and I have to make a bunch of OCs to replace them.)

That is totally foreshadowing.

I know the end of the story, because I'm still connected to the Dream, even on earth, and its keeping me updated. Tyrian time is still going faster than earth time, you know, so I'll never run out of material. This story can be, like, the chronicles of the sylvari or something. Even after Tiffany dies… oops.

That's too many spoilers. Good bye. **

On the other hand, you can't believe everything you hear in the author's notes. _-wink-_

The way to combat this, of course, is to use the invite code HwKw8vy to join the Tassof Friends Discord server! (You could also ask in reviews or PMs, but it's just boring to tell things straight up like that.)

A belated realization: the same goes for if you want to hear the 'because _reasons_' I mentioned in the summary. I'm perfectly happy to go in depth with them, but my brain is tired at this exact minute and I'm about to go to bed, and I don't think you'd appreciate me delaying the chapter another day… merely to explain why the chapter was late to begin with.


	10. Chapter 9: Patience is a Virtue

THE UNBROKEN

* * *

Dedication: To Jesus Christ my Lord and Savior, who had a heavy hand in helping me write half the scenes in this chapter, and therefore is the one who is responsible for this chapter coming out a day early. (It took a lot of work on his part to convince me to get it done, rather than working on the side project that stole half my time this week, but he did it.)

* * *

Chapter nine: Patience Is a Virtue

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

Longer chapter today, _and_ it's early! See above for thank-yous.

Also! I am slightly hesitant on this chapter… because I have to up the rating from K+ to Teen… for physical violence. NOTE: I _am_ going to mark off the important bits. They're important enough that I didn't take them out, but it's not _vital_ \- you can understand what's happening and the character's reactions to it and all that by reading the context. But it's still a thing. And there are permanent scars.

Fiona would skin me if she knew I was doing this. _Will_ as soon as she finds out. She sees absolutely no problem with physical violence in writing. Oh well. _(This is hilariously ironic but I can't really laugh about it until the end of the chapter without giving spoilers.)_

_**Okay, here's the story now: **_

* * *

Fiona is in a dirty cell, but that isn't what's bothering her. The fact that there isn't even a guard to watch her is insulting, but that isn't the problem. That she is likely going to die in here… well, that's a separate issue. No, the thing bothering her is hat the Pact doesn't know that a Risen mesmer is jamming - no, _twisting_ \- communications.

The communications department is her responsibility, her way of ensuring Tiffany's success, and she'd been doing a bad enough job - and now she is leaving it entirely in the hands of Syska to toy with. And she had almost caught the one responsible for the problems! If only she hadn't been so _stupid_…

The Pact, already under strain from the bad communications and blaming each other for it, will probably break. Syska probably orchestrated Fiona's capture so that she could get around to it more quickly.

Fiona, as a Pact Champion, Wyld Hunt Valiant, and Tiffany's sister, is a failure. She'd regretted agreeing to the whole idea of the Pact Champions before, but that was because she hadn't _wanted_ to. Now there is conclusive proof that she is just not _qualified_ to be a Champion.

Tiffany could die. Anyone could die. The Pact is at Syska's mercy now. Tiffany is Fiona's Wyld Hunt. She doesn't know what happens if a Wyld Hunt outright fails - despite Trahearne's words, seemingly ages ago, about what they really mean to the Dream, the legend of the Wyld Hunt had been hammered into her long since by Tiffany. No matter what the _consequences_ are of failing the Hunt, the compulsion to complete it is strong enough that Fiona squirms just thinking about it.

She kicks the dirt wall of her cell angrily. How _dare_ the Flame Legion lock her up like this! In days gone by she would have howled at being pent up just for the sake of wishing to be free to move, but now she sees the greater danger, and she nearly trembles in rage.

These charr don't know what they're doing. They've been duped by a dragon's lieutenant, dared to lock up a champion of the Dream and hinder the Wyld Hunt! They'll see the wrath of a Valiant soon enough.

Gritting her teeth, Fiona scowls at the bars of her cell. She is perfectly aware that the charr have no idea who she is. She's just _mad_, that's all.

Her task is unfinished, and Syska is out there, effortlessly laying waste to the Pact's efforts. Fiona had thought she could rest when she knew the source of the troubles. She'd been assuming too much. Assumed the threat was easily dealt with, most of all. Now, she simply _can't._

_You don't need to._

_Of course I need to,_ Fiona flings back.

_Fiona._ The voice carries stern authority.

Fiona scowls stubbornly, but she nods jerkily. She sits and fumes in silence for a few minutes, staring at one of the torches in the cell-lined corridor.

_Are you ready to listen?_

"Fine," Fiona mutters aloud, although she knows full well she can't be dragged into this. She sighs. "Fine," she says, more resignedly than before. _Is this my trials and troubles?_ she asks the Dream.

_What do you think?_

Fiona gets the feeling that this question will be asked a lot. That's what the Dream tends to do, after all. Oh, it doesn't matter all that much. The Dream has it all in hand, she just has to wait. At least for now.

She sits on the cot - the only furnishing in the cell, and, for a human, surprisingly sturdy - and leans against the dirt wall. Despite her grumbling, she sits companionably with the Dream for a while in silence.

* * *

A low growl wakes her. Fiona blinks in silence and near utter darkness - the torches on the walls must have gone out at some point - and listens carefully. Something is clicking on the stone floor - the claws of a charr.

"Hello?" she asks cautiously, feeling for the Dream. "Who's there?"

"A big scary charr," comes the slightly amused response.

"Oh, I'm terrified," Fiona replies, approaching the bars of the cell. The Dream is there, but slightly dormant, as usual. Not that it isn't paying the utmost attention to everything in Tyria.

"Well, you seem cheerful, for having come into contact with Syska," the charr notes.

Fiona shrugs. "Ehh, I've seen scarier things. And talked to less pleasant people."

The charr clicks away, further down the corridor. "I've been instructed not to feed you, but I came down to see what was going on anyway. We don't often get the opportunity to take human prisoners."

"Yeah, well, it was less of an opportunity and more Syska forced it on you, right?" Fiona points out.

The charr snorts a laugh. "Syska forced it on _them_. I'm not party to their decisions."

"Aren't you?" Fiona asks curiously.

"Oh, maybe it's too dark for you - or maybe you just don't know how Flame Legion treat their females."

"The first guess is correct," Fiona answers. "Don't Flame Legion look down on females or something?"

"Not quite. They _fear_ us, so they take away our ability to fight. Which also means that they fear us more than the Allied Legions."

"Ahh, good point."

After a moment of silence, the charr asks suddenly, "what do you know of Syska?"

Fiona frowns. "Why?"

"I have disliked her since she came here. She's too… masculine. She controls the males too much."

"Wouldn't that be a good thing?"

"No. Because she has shown no sign of doing it for the good of Flame females. She controls the males, and the males control us. No different than before. But the males, resenting her control, will take it out on us."

Fiona nods. "Well, I don't think she's Flame Legion. She's a mesmer, she's a Vigil Tactician… I actually don't know that much about her background." _She's a Risen lieutenant,_ Fiona adds mentally, but she doesn't feel like mentioning this fact. Maybe the Dream doesn't want her to. "She wants me miserable, for whatever reason. I'm actually not entirely sure why on that one, except that I made her mad."

"Oh? What did you do?"

"Tried to kill her," Fiona says dryly.

"Ah, well, that's understandable then," the female charr laughs. "I'd be mad too. So will the males, if they hear about it. Two females got in a fight and they have to deal with the loser."

Fiona nods thoughtfully. "Yeah, I can see that. So is that why you came down here? To learn what I know about Syska?"

"Yes," the charr says unrepentantly. "Also I did want to ask, why were you sleeping?"

Fiona frowns. "Because I was tired? I haven't been getting a lot of sleep lately."

"You are strange. Most humans would have wet their pants by now."

Fiona laughs. "I've fought scarier things than charr," she says finally. "And since you aren't going to, like, claw me open or anything, I don't see any reason to be afraid."

"Oh? What's scarier than a charr?" the female asks, putting her head close enough to the bars for Fiona to see and baring her teeth.

"Well, Zhaitan's minions, the Risen, for one," Fiona says. "Corrupted Icebrood quaggan. Destroyers bubbling up from a fissure in the ground. And DeGlasse."

"What?"

"DeGlasse, the trainer who ironed out all my kinks with mesmerism and nearly killed me every single day for two weeks straight."

"He's… human?"

"Yes."

"And he's scarier than a charr."

"Yes."

"I'll have to meet him someday."

"Also, when he yells at people he calls them kittens."

The charr says nothing, but Fiona hears a low growl from a few inches away in the darkness. "I am definitely going to have to meet him someday."

"I'd say 'maybe you will,' but somehow I don't think so." _Unless my purpose here is to introduce a Flame female to DeGlasse, but I doubt it._ "Now… if you're done here… can I go back to sleep?"

The charr huffs, and Fiona hears the claws clicking back toward the exit.

* * *

"It's been days since we set out on this wild goose chase," Forgal says finally. Three days, to be exact - it is currently the thirty-eighth of the Season. He pauses for a moment, waiting.

"This is important," Crusader Apatia says firmly, her voice crackling slightly through the radios in the aquabreathers.

"And therefore," Lightbringer Vriré points out, "not a wild goose chase at all, as that would indicate something that is not only highly impossible, but impractical as well."

"I am aware," Forgal retorts sharply. In addition to being constantly tense and wary around Vriré, as a Whispers Lightbringer, he finds that he dislikes her personally, as well - continually smug and superior, nitpicking everything he says. _Is she __trying__ to alienate me from her Order?_

Forgal absolutely understands the necessity of working together to defeat the dragons, and at times he wishes he was more capable of trusting them. Forgal grimaces. The very thought makes him nauseous. He'd said the Order was equivalent to Asvor, but that's wrong. The thought of trusting Asvor doesn't turn his stomach - it's just preposterous. And nostalgic. And even, in a tiny corner of his mind, inviting, for some horribly unknown psychological influence she'd had on him. But the Order is sour to him because they are people _like_ Asvor. People who might inflict on others what Asvor had on him.

_If Asvor knew that all she had to do to get me to think about her continually was to put me on a mission with a completely unrelated Whispers agent, she would have done this years ago._ Forgal had been trying to forget about Asvor since he'd realized that she was trying for the opposite. And now, he's been thrown into this alliance, surrounded by Whisperers and unable to think of anything else. He's an impediment to the mission, that's what he is. He should never have been made a Pact Champion with this kind of debilitating… _thing_ hanging over him.

Scowling at a nearby shark drifting in the current, Forgal tries to set his mind on the mission. Find the largos. What a waste of time.

"Did you see that?" Crusader Apatia asks, pointing at another shark. Injured, and drifting on the current. Forgal glances back at the other - blood stains the water. _How did I not notice?_

"They look like they've been staked out to lure in something larger," the Crusader says, whispering - although her voice is indiscernible without the aquabreathers. "I've never seen this tactic used underwater before."

"Underwater or no, the hunter should be nearby," Forgal points out. He glances around until he lays eyes on the Lightbringer, hovering above and behind him. _Why does she have to be so quiet all the time?_ "Maybe he will have seen the largos."

"Unless it _is_ the largos," Apatia whispers, a breath of excitement entering her voice.

"Stay on guard," Lightbringer Vriré says cautiously, swimming up beside the Crusader. "We don't know if it will take kindly to us intruding on its hunting grounds."

"Too late," comes a sinister-sounding voice from behind him. Forgal turns to see a largos with two large blades approaching. "You already have my attention. Leave, before it is too late."

"We just wanted to talk to you, actually," Crusader Apatia says boldly.

"Speak, then. You are interruption. State your business and begone."

"We heard you got yourself captured by the krait, and then escaped," Lightbringer Vriré speaks up. "We need to know about their magical orb that supposedly prevents Orrian corruption."

The largos laughs. "You speak plainly, and you hide your fear well. Still, your needs don't interest me, and I have no need of you."

"Are you sure about that?" Crusader Apatia asks shrewdly. "You seem to be hunting here. Our people are hunters, like yours. We can help."

"You insult me. I need no help to take down my own prey," the largos retorts sharply, spinning her blades in an intricate pattern.

"It is not help," Forgal tells her, hoping to Raven he is doing the right thing. "Test us. You have shown your prowess by escaping the krait and killing their slavemaster, and now we shall prove ours."

"So it's a challenge, then," the largos replies, sounding intrigued. "Very well. I am currently amusing myself between targets. My current focus is the great sea monster in the caves nearby. Honor the Tethyos Compact that is the heart of the largos; kill it, bring me proof. Then I will tell you what I know about the krait." She disappears in puff of blackness.

"So it's like the Great Hunt," the Crusader notes. "With allies, not competitors."

"You seem to know a lot about largos," Lightbringer Vriré tells her. "Can you lead us to the largos' target?"

"I'll try," Apatia answers, swimming out to the center of the ring of sharks. She glances around, and finally points out a bright glow hidden in a crevice of the underwater caves. "There. That thing looks formidable enough to catch a largos' eye." She dives deeper, followed by Vriré and Forgal.

The monster is a gigantic, luminescent, color-shifting jellyfish. Spotting them, it spins, creating a vacuum of water that sucks the hunters closer and into a whirlpool.

Forgal, blinded by the bubbles streaming past his face, pulls his spear from its place cautiously, and lets the current carry him clear. He suddenly realizes that he can't see the Lightbringer, so he glances around frantically for her as he spirals closer to the jellyfish. He finally sees her clinging to the ocean floor, reloading her harpoon gun.

_She uses a __harpoon gun__?_ Forgal demands of nobody. He can't possibly feel safe anywhere near the jellyfish with the Lightbringer aiming a long-range weapon just a few feet away from him. He hurls his own spear at the jellyfish and sets about escaping the whirlpool - no easy task.

A harpoon streaks through the water from above him and hits the jellyfish. _She can't have moved up there so soon!_ Forgal twists quickly to see that Apatia also has a harpoon gun. But she isn't Whispers, and so she doesn't inflict terribly disabling distrust on him. Forgal turns his attention back to the jellyfish, and keeps an eye on the asura.

More harpoons hit the jellyfish, which flails all its tentacles. It turns and, squirting black ink behind it, swims away. Forgal, now blinded by black ink, manages to escape the whirlpool - which is now slowing lazily to a stop - and regroups with Crusader Apatia.

Lightbringer Vriré joins them and they set out to find the jellyfish again. Forgal is now missing his spear, but he can regain it. Or he can become the Raven. He is not helpless.

Vriré sees the jellyfish and promptly fires a harpoon, with Apatia close behind. The jellyfish flails and its luminescence dims. Two more harpoons lodge in its body, and its motion ceases.

Forgal glances at Lightbringer Vriré, then dives down and retrieves his spear. The back of his neck prickles uncomfortably at presenting such an inviting target, but there's nothing for it. _And she's not going to attack me anyway_, he reminds himself. Instinct had served him well throughout his life, and he bitterly resents the fact that he cannot trust it now. Recalling the largos' instruction to bring proof of kill, he hacks off one of the jellyfish's tentacles.

When he returns to where the other two are waiting, the largos appears out of thin air.

"Impressive. I will present this trophy to the great Houses in your names. You have earned the right of introduction; I am Sayeh al'Rajihd. Now, as we agreed: the orb you seek is a thing of legend, known only to deep dwellers. Its origins are lost, but it is extremely powerful. It may pose its own dangers, but it does counter the undead dragon's influence. Wherever the orb is, those who die near it do not rise again."

"Are you sure - " Vriré begins skeptically, but Sayeh talks over her.

"The krait are keeping it in constant transit between their largest strongholds to maximize its effect. I suggest a plan: I was brought close to the slavemaster when I allowed myself to be captured. If you do the same, you may reach the orb."

Before Lightbringer Vriré can voice her skepticism again - or Apatia be distracted by the new topic - Forgal speaks up. "Which strongholds?"

"The Restless Deeps of the Mire Sea, near here, where I escaped from. Further north, beyond the mountain pass, is Sipedon Deeps in Nonmoa Lake. The others are far from here - or destroyed by Risen - and the orb is not taken there. It is currently at the Restless Deeps, but it will be moved to Sipedon Deeps on Scion the thirty-ninth. Tomorrow."

"Thank you for your help, Sayeh al'Rajihd," Apatia says.

"May your steps be relentless," Sayeh replies, and disappears once more.

"I can't see why you're more wary around me than around her," Vriré says dryly.

Forgal doesn't deign a reply to this. He does not fear foes that can _kill_ him - such are challenges to be embraced. _I am a warrior of a hundred and ten years. I am not afraid of death._

"The orb," the Crusader reminds them. "Getting captured sounds risky - doable for a largos, perhaps, and a fun challenge - "

"No," Forgal says firmly. "There's too much at stake here, and we don't know how Sayeh did it."

"I wasn't going to suggest that," Apatia says dryly. "I think we should snatch the orb while in transit between Sipedon Deeps and the Restless Deeps." Vriré looks at her expectantly. Apatia glances between the asura and Forgal, who remains silent. "Well? What do you think?" she asks finally.

"It's your decision," Vriré points out.

"Crusader, you're in charge here," Forgal reminds her flatly with a glance at the Lightbringer.

"Oh! Right," Apatia says. "I, er… right. Sayeh said the orb was moving tomorrow. Meet me at the Broken Arrow River, where it flows into the Mire Sea."

* * *

Tonn knows exactly where his targets are, it seems, and leads them all over the place. After another few days of traveling around the Risen-infested lands, blowing up Risen structures, crippling the undead presence in certain areas, and dealing with other threats, such as krait hideouts and Inquest labs, Tonn finally decides that it is time to blow up the Dead Ship. He introduces the topic in his own inimitable style.

"That was only a warm-up, you know," Tonn informs Tiffany. They are standing on the beach of yet another island, between the water and a nearby cliff-face. "Things are about to get really interesting. The next target is a huge Orrian ship that's fouling up this place. It's a Dead Ship, so if we used normal explosives, we'd need to fill the ship's hold with them just to make a dent."

"I hope we're not trying that," Crusader Gutfire scoffs.

"Of course not," Tonn reassures him. "That hulk is going to require some serious flash and bang. We confiscated some explosives from the Inquest a few days ago that will do nicely."

Tiffany glances at him sharply, but pauses a moment. Things had been going well for the last half-a-week, and she'd nearly forgotten that Tonn is supposed to die. She'd forgotten all her responsibilities from knowing the future. She suddenly has a headache. Knowing the future had brought her… so much pain and trouble. The good… _so far, the good hardly outweighs it._ A stunning realization, that she had not achieved much.

"We still have those around?" Gutfire grumbles. "Those things are dangerous, Demolitionist." Tonn thinks his title is beyond hilarious, but Gutfire only uses it for lack of another way to refer to his superior.

Tiffany watches the discussion with a feeling of detachment. She's… separate. She knows the future. She knows Tonn is supposed to die. _The last time I saved someone…_

"Ah, ah, ah!" Tonn says. "The Inquest work on explosives parallels my own - but only because they stole my ideas in the first place - and it's not like they could go off at any moment. Even Inquest aren't _that_ dim."

Not that Tiffany is reconsidering keeping Tonn from dying, of course, but… she feels, for the first time, like she is carrying a great burden. _Future knowledge. Unofficial replacement of the player._ All the lives. Tiffany stifles a pained grimace. _Deborah. The Spar Warband. Who knows how many others._ She trembles slightly.

"Hmph," Gutfire mutters. "Whatever you say, Demolitionist. I'd still prefer not using Inquest tech."

_It is more than lives. It is corruption. If Orr dies for good because of something I've done or will do, I'll never forgive myself._ So much is on _her_ to see right. She doesn't know if she can stand it. _A break from the trouble was supposed to __help__ me, not make it worse!_ She doesn't know who she is addressing with her internal monologue. Maybe she should invent an imagination of Trahearne, concerned and caring, who will listen to her be sad and frustrated, without taking any of it away (because he would be just an imaginary, idealized, one-dimensional picture), because - odd as it might seem - she wants to keep it all, because this is her responsibility and she wanted it all, and she still does. _Except the Wyld Hunt, maybe._ She still isn't too sure about that one.

Tonn frowns slightly. "Well, my old mentor, Zopp, and his krewe have been gathering geothermal energies from the interior of Mount Maelstrom, and putting it in a device I can adapt to my purposes. That would work just as well."

_Inventing an imaginary shade of Trahearne feels… wrong, though. Takes all the brilliance out of talking to him in person._ But she feels… slightly intimidated by Trahearne, now that she's met him in real life. Not that she would ever admit such to Fiona - who would goggle at her say 'what happened to best friends in the whole entire of both worlds?' - but it's true. She isn't quite sure why.

Gutfire grunts. "Ugh, fine. An unpredictable, makeshift device is worse than a malicious one when we know what it does."

Tiffany doesn't know what to think. She's confused and worried. People are dying because of her mistakes and inaction. Trahearne is confusing, by himself. With the might of the Pact behind him now - an organization, she realizes, she had only thought about more than actually aided. _I'm probably the least useful Champion. This detonator mission is barely relevant to the overall Pact. It's only important because I'm still stuck in the game._

Tonn hesitates for a moment, then nods. "Yes. Better the enemy you know than the one you don't, if both sources are in question. Don't worry, I'll go over the Inquest bomb carefully to free it from glitches."

_Some must fight so that all may be free._ Well… that was slightly random. Where had that thought come from? She doesn't want Tonn to die, of course… okay, maybe it is relevant. But again - objectively - this mission isn't important enough for her to be on. Somehow, the excuse rings hollow. Why is she making excuses? _Okay, what's going on?_ Tiffany wonders at nothing.

Nothing answers. Of course. Except there's something there, and she doesn't know what it is. Something is asking questions that she doesn't know the answers to, in a strange way. It's definitely not her own self. _Fight._ Now it's repeating its arguments, and she isn't being convinced. It can't be that smart, then. _Are you trying to convince yourself __not__ to stay on this mission and save Tonn?_ Great, it's talking in the second person now. It has a point, though.

"Champion?" Tonn says, almost as an afterthought. "You got that?"

"What?" Tiffany says, blinking. Right, the bomb. _I'm not finished with you,_ she says to the nothing.

"I'm going to comb the Inquest bomb for bugs, and we'll use that one," Tonn replies, glancing at her oddly.

There hadn't been any Inquest in Tiffany's storyline. _Have anything to say?_ she asks the nothing snarkily. Nothing. Apparently it only talks when she _doesn't_ ask it direct questions. She can't juggle the uncertainty the nothing had provoked - or maybe the nothing itself, or something - at the same time as weighing the options properly. "Yeah, sure," she tells Tonn.

He looks slightly concerned, but doesn't comment. "Alright, Champion. I'll come find you when I'm ready."

Tiffany focuses hard on Tonn as he walks away, chattering to Gutfire. He even _walks_ excitedly. Nothing. She focuses harder. He is going to prepare the bomb that should kill him. He'd undoubtedly prepared in the game, so very little he does now is going to have any effect. Fine. Fine! She'll stay on this mission. _You just don't want to see the little asura die._

"Would you pick a side and stay with it?" Tiffany snaps, irritated all the more by the fact that the nothing is right. _Some must fight so that all may be free._

"Fine, fine fine!" Tiffany nearly yells. "I get it! Protecting the innocent is my whole _thing!_ And Deborah's whole thing! And… _ugh_." But she's still barely more than a Warmaster. She's supposed to be filling the role of the Commander. Technically she is - this mission is _exactly_ the role of the Commander.

"Can you talk to me straight-out?" Tiffany grumbles. Not that it'll do anything, of course. She wonders why she is feeling so… dissatisfied. _Was that a question?_ she asks suspiciously of the nothing. Nothing in response. She had certainly named it accurately. _Hi, mister Nothing,_ she grouches. _Hi, miss Tiffany._

Oh, _perfect._ She had just been beginning to suspect she was going insane. Maybe she is. "Was all you wanted a _greeting?_" she demands. Nothing. Or… a 'maybe.' Like some faint echo. An _amused_ echo.

"Well, you're still living up to your name, apparently," Tiffany sighs. "Of course."

Still nothing. Apparently, that wasn't worth replying to. Good, because talking to herself was getting confusing. _Aand I still don't know the answer to the question._ What question? Oh, right. The one the Nothing asked her. Why she is dissatisfied.

"Maybe 'cause I'm not actually doing anything," she grumbles after a moment. _And no, before you ask, I do not know why I am feeling like that._ But still. "Okay, interview time!" she says, throwing up her hands in mock surrender. She ticks things off on her hands, brainstorming. "Maybe it's because I'm still stuck in the game, apparently. Or maybe because it's taking _so long_ to get to Fort Trinity and start doing things. Maybe it's because, to all appearances, _Fiona_ is the one that first spoke the idea of the Pact to a person who could implement it. Maybe it's because everything has happened with minimal input from me! Maybe because I've been _looking forward to_ being the Commander for about six months, and now I'm _not_, and it's partly because of Forgal not dying, and it's partly because of Fiona existing and being in the Durmand Priory and making Sieran relevant, and it's partly because of joining the Order and making Vriré relevant."

She doesn't regret any of that, though. Who knows what would have become of her without Fiona. And she couldn't let Forgal die. And Vriré… has grown on her. She likes Vriré. That doesn't mean she can't be grouchy at them, though, right?

Grouchy at them for _what_, exactly? _You're just going to keep up this interrogation until… I understand myself. Of course._ Mister Nothing. It is totally incomprehensible to her. "Okay, I'm doing it already," Tiffany grumbles. How weird is it that her first thought is 'stealing time from Trahearne?' _Put it on the list._ "What, _this_ list?" she grumbles. She ticks off a finger. "Stealing time from Trahearne," she snaps. _Now, wasn't that cathartic?_

Tiffany scowls. Why does the Nothing have to be _right_ so often. Stubbornly, she searches for something else to be grumpy at her friends for. 'Being her equals' doesn't fit - good, she does _not_ have a superiority complex - but she ticks it off anyway, because brainstorming. "Umm… being better at being Pact Champions than I am." That barely fits either. "Having funner missions than me?" Maybe a little. "Not being bothered with the future of the world?" Aha, that's a good one. "Not having crazy-weird Wyld Hunts?" That fits too, believe it or not. What a crazy thing to be jealous of someone for.

But… also believe it or not, she doesn't _really_ want to have any other Wyld Hunt than her own. Somehow. She doesn't understand it. "But I can still be grumpy at them over that," she reminds herself. _There is nothing wrong with being grumpy_, the Nothing tells her.

Tiffany makes her questioning-thinking face, the one that says 'oh, I hadn't thought of that before,' and then goes back to looking for reasons to be grumpy at the other Champions. For lack of nothing else to do. She wonders if she's grumpy at them for nothing at all. Well, she's obviously not grumpy for nothing, since she's already got _some_ things. But she can be grumpy for nothing _as well as_ other things, right?

Logic. Goes out the window when talking to Tiffany Tassof. "Okay, so nothing. I'm grumpy at them for nothing. Also for not, apparently, having such a tough job as I do. Some of them." She isn't going to deny that Fiona has a tough job. "They also don't have all the _pressure_ that I do."

She hesitates a moment, then slowly mumbles, "and as one in five, I'm not special to Trahearne. I'm just another Pact Champion." Of course, the question logically follows why she _wants_ to be special to Trahearne. "I don't know, I just - well part of the whole _point_ of coming to Tyria was to save him from dying! Because he's a _friend_. Or… he was my friend. I don't… he didn't even know I existed, so it couldn't possibly have been reciprocal. _But_," she bursts out suddenly, "it's like, I've been through _all this stuff_ for him, and he doesn't even _know_, and there's no… there's no _appreciation_ for it, like…"

Appreciation for what, exactly? Interfering and getting Lion's Arch destroyed three years early?

Tears of frustration prick at Tiffany's eyes. "See, this is _exactly_ the problem! I'm useless! All this stuff I've been through, and it gets nobody nowhere, and nobody ever acknowledges that I even _tried_, and did my best, and nobody really understands how much I _care_ about them - Braham up and left when he heard I knew Eir, for no reason at all, and I don't even know _what_ to think about Forgal, like I think he forgot to say thank you for saving his life, and maybe sorry Deborah died, and maybe _he_ didn't forget and _I'm_ forgetting, but I know he meant it even if he didn't say it, and since when do I care what people _say_ instead of what they _mean?_"

Tiffany picks up a rock and hurls it at a nearby cliff. It doesn't break, of course, just falls to the ground with a little thump. She glares at it. And then she goes on, "and Forgal even knows that I know the future, and that I'm from another world, and he never once bothered to ask if I was alright, and he knows I can't talk to my family properly anymore, and maybe never see them again, and he _knows_ and he's not said anything! And I saved his life and now he really is being super helpful with the Pact, but also he's got this whole _Asvor_ thing and it's like - another problem I have to deal with? And it's not just Forgal!" Well, now she feels like blaming Trahearne for something, but she can't figure out what she _would_ blame him for, he'd done just as she thought he would with everything.

"It's the other Champions, again. I wanted to help him. I wanted to be his Commander, but instead he goes off assigning all the hard and fun things to other people and I'm stuck with a job that's mostly Vigil anyway. Not that I have anything against the Vigil, I was just… I worked so hard to be Commander, and now it's like _nothing_, and nobody cares, and - " Tiffany shakes her head and presses the heels of her palms into her eyes, trembling. "Why do I feel like this?" she asks the Nothing. "What's wrong with me? Why am I being so… so…"

_You're not being selfish._ "Well, thanks," Tiffany snarks. There _was_ a reason she had hesitated saying it. But it does feel good. She sits down by the rock she threw and leans back against the cliff, drawing her knees up to her chest. She stares out at the waves for a minute. She feels… accepted. That what she feels is totally normal, and the Dream understands. She breathes out a shaky sigh and leans her head on her knees, looking sideways.

She doesn't feel like crying anymore. "Thanks," she mumbles again, more calmly. Sincerely. She wants to sleep

* * *

Tonn finds her there, later. Tiffany looks up to see him staring at her in concern. "Are you alright?" he asks.

Tiffany sighs. "Yeah. I'm fine." She stands up, dusting a little sand off of her. She gives the worried-looking asura a small smile. "I'm alright, Tonn, really."

He looks uncertain. "If you say so, Champion." As they walk back toward the camp, he asks, sounding almost incredulous, "did you really _fall asleep_ out here?"

"Er… yeah," Tiffany says sheepishly. "But… I was safe." She glances back to where she'd been sitting. An air of peace lies over the area.

A smile tugs at her lips as she watches Tonn assuring Crusader Gutfire and Crusader Gilley that she was alright, she'd just been sleeping.

And, as it turns out, Tonn and Crusader Gutfire had decided on a course of action without her input. It's not like she's in charge of imbeciles who don't know how to make smart decisions. Everything isn't _entirely_ on her.

_Blessed be the Lord, because he hath heard the voice of my supplications. The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusted in him, and I am helped: therefore my heart greatly rejoiceth; and with my song will I praise him._

* * *

Fiona wakes up the next morning to silence. The dungeon remains silent until about noon.

Fiona is staring at the wall, bored, when a voice speaks up beside her.

"Hello."

Fiona jumps and spins around. A charr cub is staring at her through the bars.

"Who are you?" the cub asks.

"My name is Fiona," Fiona says, sitting on the floor so they don't have to look at each other from extreme angles. "Who are you?"

"I'm Eda. Mother said I could come talk to you if I was bored."

Fiona frowns. "Don't charr cubs go to a fahrar or something?"

"Yes, but Mother didn't like it. She said the other Legions might come and steal me away, or maybe even kill me. So when we left the place we were at before, she came and got me and then we came here."

Fiona nods. "That makes sense. And it's good for you to be with your mother anyway. Are there any other cubs here?"

"No, and I'm supposed to stay downstairs and not get in the way of the males. Where is your warband?"

Fiona blinks. "I don't have one. My friends, though, are far away."

"I'm confused," Eda declares. "Mother said females don't have warbands. She _also_ said that other people that don't get to be charr don't have warbands. You are _both_. Is that special or something? If not, who _does_ have warbands?"

Fiona chooses her words carefully. "We kind of have warbands, but we don't call them that. We're friends. But we don't always fight together."

"Let's talk about something else," Eda decides. "Are you grown up? You don't look very big."

"Yes," Fiona replies. "And humans don't get to be as big as charr."

"Don't worry," Eda reassures her. "Charr are the best, and we're going to conquer everyone."

Fiona blinks. "Um… okay. How old are you?"

"Five years. My fahrar was about to start teaching about extended geography and the movement of troops over a large area and the tactics and strategy about it. At least, the males were. The females had mostly finished our training already, except our primus said we had to hammer it into our heads a little harder how to listen and how to be useful. We were moving on to being taught higher-level things like strategys, but only in the theory and large-scale. Also I particularly had to do special training. I don't know what it was for, but it was okay, I guess."

"Sounds fun," Fiona says, not knowing what else to say.

"What about you? What did you learn in the fahrar?"

Rather than trying to explain the concept of not having had a fahrar, Fiona tells about her training under DeGlasse. "He was really tough, and he called me a kitten a lot," she explains.

Eda blinks. "But you're only one."

Fiona frowns, not seeing the connection. "I can make more?" she offers. "Well, I could if I had my foci."

"No, you can't be a kitten if you're only one. If you're only one you're a kit. If you're two you're kitten. Your Primus DeGlasse must be bad at what my Primus calls 'grammar.'"

Fiona blinks. "Oh! I think for humans it's different. When you're only one you're a _child_, and when you're more you're children. But Primus DeGlasse isn't bad at grammar - kitten _is_ one, in Kryta. Where we live."

"Oh. Maybe I can call you a kitten anyway, if you can make more of you."

Fiona grins. "Sure, I guess, but I'm all grown up now."

"Still. Nobody's a kitten except you," Eda says firmly.

"Alright," Fiona says cheerfully. "That's my name now. I'm Kitten."

"Yay!" Eda cheers. "What's my name?"

Fiona ponders for a moment. "I don't know. You can be Eda for now, because your mother gave it to you, and that's special."

"Alright," Eda says, satisfied. "Eda and Kitten. You're my newest friend!"

"Do you have other friends?" Fiona asks.

"Oh, yes, all the ones in my fahrar. I miss them. Also I'm scared at it."

"Scared at what?"

"Well Mother said she took me away because she was scared I might get hurt or stolen. Now I'm scared the other cubs will get hurt or stolen, because their mothers don't care as much as mine does."

"Oh," Fiona says somberly. "I'm sorry. I hope your friends will be alright."

"Yeah," Eda says sadly. "Maybe when you die you can go look for them?"

Fiona blinks. "What?"

"Well you are a human, so when you die you'll turn into a ghost, and then you can fight the Allied Legions that might've hurt or stolen my friends."

"Oh. I'll try, I guess," Fiona says slowly. "Do you think I'll die?"

"Oh, yes," Eda replies cheerfully. "You're a prisoner, and all prisoners have to die. That's what my Primus said. Because prisoners are _alive_, and that means they're not dead, so we get to kill them so they're properly dead."

"I see," Fiona says, nodding seriously. "Don't you have to wait until you're all grown up for that?"

"Yeah, but Mother can do it, she's grown up," Eda explains. She drops her voice to a whisper. "But I don't think she's allowed, either, because she's also female. One of the older cubs said that killing enrages females like _big bad_, and so it's a big no-no."

Fiona blinks. "Are you sure that's not quaggan?"

Eda gives her a look that says 'are you stupid or what?'

"Oh, right. I forgot that part," Fiona rectifies with a grin.

"I like you, Kitten," Eda says with a smile. "It's funny calling one kitten."

"I think it's funny that you stole Primus DeGlasse's swear word into a nickname. I am going to tell him about that someday."

"When you're a ghost?" Eda asks excitedly.

"Yes," Fiona agrees with a nod.

"Eda!" comes a shout.

Eda glances back down the hallway. "Oh, I have to go. Bye Kitten!" she calls as she hurries away.

"Bye, Eda," Fiona calls after her, and the dungeon returns to silence. Fiona finds herself regretting that the cheerful cub had left.

She falls asleep with her stomach growling. Apparently the charr are going to make good on Syska's threat to starve her.

* * *

She wakes the next day to the loud sound of charr voices clambering down the stairway to the dungeon.

Fiona contemplates the ceiling. More things are happening to her here than she would have guessed.

"Is she dead?" she hears a voice - older, and male - ask. Fiona wonders how charr - trained in battle - can't tell a dead human from a live one. _They've been fighting ghosts for too long._ "Are you dead?" the voice asks, addressing her now. Fiona glances at him, eyebrows raised. Two male charr are frowning at her, and finally one speaks up, this time harsher. "I asked you a question…" he trails off, as if trying to decide which insult to use. Fiona decides it's probably a toss-up between 'human' and 'female.'

The other charr - the one who'd taken her to her cell the other day - huffs. "Centurion Clawburn asked you a question, female, now answer it!" he snarls at her vehemently.

_Isn't it obvious I'm not dead?_ Fiona wonders. It occurs to her to wonder what will happen if she doesn't reply; she gets her answer almost immediately. The charr who is not Centurion Clawburn - Kadon, right? - snaps out his claws at a gesture from the Centurion.

Fiona raises her eyebrows. She probably isn't going to die, not if the Dream has plans for her here. The charr sneers. "Answer the question, human, and I'll let you off the hook. Pun fully intended," he adds, shaking his clawed paw at her.

After a moment to realize that the charr is calling his claw a hook, Fiona briefly considers answering with a sarcastic 'obviously,' but dismisses the idea. If she's supposed to be here for a reason, she might as well at least try to get along with her captors. So she straightens up as best she can and salutes, saying "yes, sir!"

"It seems they can learn, Kadon," Clawburn notes in amusement. "Syska wants her to be miserable, but she seems content enough to just sit here and do nothing. Put her to work."

* * *

"Asprena," Kadon growls. He is holding tight to Fiona's shoulder to prevent her from running away. All the females in the kitchen turn to stare at him.

One of the females hurries over, her eyes on the ground. "Yes, sir?" she asks meekly.

"Put this human to work. Keep her busy." Kadon pushes Fiona forward, and she nearly falls into Asprena. "And don't let her escape," he adds. Then he turns and walks away.

Fiona glances around uncertainly. Asprena drags her further inside the room. "You heard Kadon. Get to work!" she snarls, pointing to a large tub full of dishwater.

_Well, at least this is the sort of thing I know how to do,_ Fiona decides, heading over to the tub. What confuses her is the way the other females stay away from her like the plague. And what she is supposed to be here for. _Dream? You know I'll do better if I know what I'm trying to do._

But there is no immediate response, so Fiona shrugs and turns her attention to her task. When the rest of the charr break for lunch, Fiona half-expects to be excluded, but Asprena - she seems to be the one in charge - grouchily tells her to eat.

_Maybe they're trying to humiliate me - supposedly a strong warrior - with doing housework?_ Fiona wonders. She'd never expected her dual sets of skills from two lifetimes to come in useful. _Does that count as being miserable, like Syska wants?_

At one point, a charr named Calera - who looks at her searchingly but doesn't sneer - sends her out to fetch an item one of the males had requested.

Fiona goes out into the main camp and blinks. She'd forgotten that this was the middle of the Brand, and this camp had been Branded with it. No wonder her cell and the female work area is underground.

She awkwardly picks her way through the camp, the back of her neck prickling. _It's the corruption magic. It feels wrong, even without my foci._ After completing her task, she squints to the west. There are mountains that way. The east is clear. _That must be the way out._ She sends a questioning feeling to the Dream. It returns positive - nearly just like guessing the emotions of a sylvari - and encouraging, which surprises her slightly, but she doesn't question it. She glances around warily and sneaks toward the exit.

Once she leaves the camp's borders, she breaks into a run.

She stumbles over crystals and leaves a thin film of crystal dust behind her - she knows she'll be easy to track - but she keeps going, glancing over her shoulder to see the Flame charr bounding after her. She glances forward again, but she can't even see the other side of the Brand.

**CONTENT WARNING: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE**

A force rams into her back, and she staggers to the ground. She glances up to see Koltir - the charr who had taken 'the usual' from Syska - looming above her, claws out. He slashes down at her, and she instinctively curls into a ball, flinching away from the charr. His claws slash across her back, painfully but not deeply, and she screams as blood runs down her back.

"You weren't even going in the right direction," Koltir snarls contemptuously.

Koltir picks her up - not bothering to retract his claws or be gentle - and the razor-sharp tips of his claws dig into her arm and leg. She squirms, trying to get free, but that just makes it worse, so she hangs limp, shuddering at every jolt as Koltir heads back to the encampment.

Before long, she is thrown to the ground in front of Centurion Clawburn, Koltir standing over her.

"What do you have to say for yourself, female?" Clawburn snarls.

Fiona picks herself up gingerly, wincing as the lacerations on her back stretch and pull, and putting her weight on the leg that hadn't been injured. All in all, she looks pitiful. But she glares at Clawburn defiantly. "I'm trying to escape this excuse of an outpost," she informs him.

"Excuse of an outpost?" Clawburn repeats, snapping out his claws. Fiona tries not to flinch. "What do you mean by that?"

Fiona blinks, scrambling briefly for an answer. That had just slipped out. "I mean that you're pretending that your Legion can survive the combined might of the other Legions, and you've really lost dismally. You're hiding away, hoping they don't find you. You're not fighting a war anymore; you're blindly pretending that you still have power."

Clawburn roars in wounded pride and slashes at her. She twists, trying to avoid the blow, and his claws rip apart her shoulder. She staggers back into Koltir, but he shoves her forward onto her knees. This spectacle is drawing the other charr in to see what's happening. Fiona tries to stand up, but Koltir puts both paws - with claws poking dangerously into her skin - on her shoulders, keeping her down before Clawburn.

"You can hit me all you like," Fiona tells him rebelliously, "but that doesn't change the fact that I'm right, and you know it." She'd never believed in backing down - even on such an inconsequential matter as this - just because of threats.

Clawburn, tail quivering with rage, slaps her across the face before Fiona can jerk back, leaving long, thin cuts that stretch across her right cheek and over her nose. "Silence," he snarls vehemently at her pained yell. "Take her back to her cell," he snarls, "before I end her misery early."

**END OF CONTENT WARNING**

Koltir seizes her arm and drags her back into the dungeon, not letting her get to her feet. The female charr from the kitchens stare at her in open-mouthed amazement, until Koltir barks an order that sends them scurrying away. "Grania," he snarls. "Take this one to her cell."

This female seems even more cowed than Asprena, and hurries to do his bidding.

"Sorry," Grania whispers as they head down the stairs to the dungeon. "But the males have been known to kill females that didn't cooperate." She puts Fiona in the cell and locks it.

Fiona blinks at Grania as she hurries away. _So… she doesn't __want__ to cooperate? Interesting…_

Fiona turns her attention to her wounds. The cuts on her back had crusted over a bit - _already?_ \- but the constant movement had cracked them open again. Her shoulder is a bloody mess, and her face… the cuts there sting, but they aren't that painful. Clawburn had been trying to punch her, not scratch her. Not that he hadn't succeeded, but at least he hadn't poked an eye out or something. The scratches on her leg and arms are even less severe; those were just Koltir being careless, not deliberate acts of injury.

She tries to lie still and let the wounds heal; moving too much hurts anyway. She finds that the encounter hadn't soured her to doing the Dream's bidding; most of the punishment had come from her verbal abuse of the Flame Legion's position in their war.

Something she decides she isn't going to back down on. She doesn't know what good it will do, deliberately defying Clawburn in the face of injury like this, but the Dream approves, so it must have some sort of plan. _I'm dragged all the way into Ascalon so that I can yell at the Flame Legion for being stupid. Huh. Okay then._

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

First of all, Eda is adorable and amazing and I had a LOT of fun writing her. (She's based on an abandoned kitten we found and took care of, but sadly she didn't make it.) I needed more children in the _Tassof Series_, since Mat and Ayla never show up anymore. I think Eda is a lot more believable as a child, anyway.

Also yes, I invented charr grammar. _Kitten is plural, mwahahaha._ If Fiona ever sees DeGlasse again, she's not going to be able to stop laughing.

* _Blessed be the Lord, because he hath heard the voice of my supplications. The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusted in him, and I am helped: therefore my heart greatly rejoiceth; and with my song will I praise him._ This is from the book of Psalms, chapter 28 verses six and seven. For the record, Psalms is very beautiful and poetic and was a perfect end to that scene. You can fight me over that.

Again, check the summary/dedication for who you should say thank you to that this came out a day early.

Don't forget to review and/or use the code HwKw8vy to join Tassof Friends on Discord! (You'll get to talk to the person who gave me Leon and Vargok!)


	11. Chapter 10 Explosions

THE UNBROKEN

* * *

Dedication: oh... wait... I forgot about this thing. Oops.

* * *

Chapter ten: Explosions

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

I. Am. _So. __**Freaking. **__**Sorry.**_

I've spent a _year_ writing this and making sure it makes sense and lines up, and I botched it. This chapter has been massively re-done. The first two scenes are the same (save for a few minor tweaks to facilitate the re-doing), but the rest of the chapter is completely different, and what this chapter used to be about has been storylinically postponed until the next chapter, where you'll have to skip the first half since you've already read it. (Unless you haven't, in which case, good for you! I… maybe…)

To make up for this catastrophical mess-up, I'm going to speed-post the next chapter (hopefully by tomorrow; it needs very little editing since most of it was already post-worthy). I assure you that the new content in both of the chapters is enough to equal the one chapter you were promised today (and most of the new content is in this chapter, so it isn't even delayed a day!)

Again, I apologize for the issue. But it makes for a sounder story structure, gives me a chance to give you a cliffhanger, and solves a problem with timing I'd been worrying about. Otherwise, I would've left it as-is and managed without this change.

(okay, spoilers for if you haven't already read this chapter: this is instructions on what to read to understand what changed if you don't want to re-read the whole thing)

The scene with Trahearne is unchanged. Forgal and Vriré and Apatia, however, have on thing different: the krait take a day longer to get to the spot where they'll be ambushed, so only the first half of the first scene of all that is contained in this chapter. After that it's all fine.

_**Okay, here's the story now:**_

* * *

The Pact will be at Fort Trinity by tomorrow - if things remain as they are - but Trahearne does not quite plan on things remaining as they are. Things remaining as they are includes General Almorra being angry at him for losing a whole platoon of Vigil soldiers, Fiona being missing, the other Pact Champions away, unrest and low morale throughout the whole Pact, and the communications glitches continuing.

Trahearne is massively dissatisfied with the reports of the squads he'd sent to analyze Fiona's disappearance. Clearly, a glitch had happened - more significant than any others - and Fiona, as well as a large troop of Risen, is lost in it somewhere. There are lots of things wrong, and Trahearne intends on fixing them. He'd given up his Wyld Hunt so he could _save lives_, by the Pale Tree, and at the moment, that is the last thing that is happening.

He enters Doern's tent. "Preceptor Doern, I am going to further investigate the disappearance of Pact Champion Fiona. Can you keep an eye on Pact operations until I return?"

Doern glances up from his desk. "Before you go, Marshal, we have new information. A squad of four was found just outside Mount Maelstrom. They speak of a Tactician Syska, who was going to join them with a larger force to go into the volcano. Tactician Syska _is_ in the Vigil records, as is her mission - and the dead Vigil are those she brought with her for that purpose - but she herself seems to have vanished. She isn't among the living or the uncorrupted dead."

Trahearne ponders this for a moment. "Pact Champion Fiona, Tactician Syska, and a horde of Risen have vanished, and the other Vigil died somehow - but not by a Risen hand, else they would have risen as well."

"The glitch might have been that there were no Risen," Doern suggests.

"We still don't know how the Vigil died." Trahearne thinks for a moment. The only advantage to him going is knowing how to sense Corruption, to decisively determine if Risen had been there or not. But unless it was a spectacularly powerful Risen, all traces would have faded by now. "Tactician Syska sounds like a solid lead. What are you doing now?"

"I've got agents tracking down anyone who might have come in contact with her recently. Warmaster Caisson was one, but she's dead. As for her Whispers file… all we know is that she's a weapons dealer to the Flame Legion. That was before their leadership was shattered, though, so I'm not sure how useful that is."

"Keep on that, then. Tell me when you have more information."

Trahearne the leaves the tent, not sure whether he feels relieved or sorry that he won't be personally investigating. Every soldier that dies under his command is his responsibility.

Things are remaining as they are. _How can I save lives?_ The first few times he had asked himself this, he had thought of turning back. Fleetingly, of course, but he had. Now, he focuses his mind forward.

The Pact needs cohesion. Unity. Trust. The spirit of the inter-Order alliance needs to be fostered. The only question is how.

"Oh really?" comes a scoffing voice - female, from the sound of it - from around a corner. "I think you're Whispers."

"We joined the Pact, not an individual Order," another male voice counters.

Trahearne rounds the corner just as the first voice - which belongs to a sylvari in the Vigil colors with a fern hound by her side - scoffs again.

"I don't care what you say - everyone is aligned to one Order or another. There is no neutrality." She's talking to three young norn, one of whom has his arms crossed.

"Soldier," Trahearne says, his voice even.

"Oh - ! Firstb- Marshal - "

"Name and rank, soldier," Trahearne interrupts.

"Sergeant Evina, of the Vigil, sir!" the sylvari says with a salute. "And Dana, my companion," she adds, gesturing to the fern hound.

Trahearne glances at the three norn.

"Pact Mage Malena Ravensdottir," the female necromancer says with her own salute.

"Pact Mage Reistr the Legendary," the blond norn says. Trahearne notes that he was the one Sergeant Evina was arguing with.

"Pact Mage Braham Eirsson," the last one says, his brown eyes all but daring Trahearne to mention his parentage.

"At ease," Trahearne tells them. He turns to the ranger, and speaks in a friendly tone. "Sergeant Evina, don't forget that I was chosen to lead the Pact partially because of my neutrality."

She doesn't look up from studying her toes. "Yes, Firstborn," she mumbles, her voice low. Through the Dream, she and her fern hound radiate embarrassment and shame.

"Evina."

The use of her name draws her attention to him. She blinks, her amber eyes wide.

"You are not in trouble," Trahearne tells her. "I would prefer if the Orders - and those of no Order - could get along with and understand each other. We are all in this together."

"Yes, sir." Her eyes flick down again.

Trahearne turns to the three norn, who are standing by awkwardly. "Bored?" he guesses.

Reistr gives him a startled nod.

"Don't worry; we'll be at Fort Trinity on the fortieth."

"That's tomorrow!" Malena points out in delight.

Trahearne raises his eyebrows and nods once, increasing the suddenly invigorated looks on their faces, and turns to leave, but Evina clears her throat softly.

"I - " she wavers for a moment, then her voice gains strength. "I'm sorry, Marshal Trahearne. And you, Pact Mage Reistr. It won't happen again."

Trahearne gives her a small smile and a nod. He opens his mouth to say that no apology was necessary; then changes tack. "Apology accepted, Sergeant. You've done well."

A smile spreads across her face, and she glows with pride at the praise. "Thank you, sir."

Trahearne nods and turns to leave. Behind him, he hears the four engage in a lively, enthusiastic conversation about how close they are to Fort Trinity, and he smiles. That is how he'll spread the spirit of the Pact - with his presence. His interaction. _Choosing an Orderless leader was a wise decision._

* * *

"Lightbringer, can you scout ahead?" Crusader Apatia asks, as the team arrives at the base of the Broken Arrow River.

"I can," Vriré replies with a salute. Forgal grumbles to himself, and she hears the muttered phrase 'crazy Whispers Lightbringers.' She sighs and shakes her head. _Sir Warmaster can't get the concept of choosing which of two high priorities is more important._ Warmaster Forgal has a very dismal record on this subject, and his stubborn, selfish insistence that his own problems, his own Order, and his own priorities take precedence is appalling.

Vriré sets the issue aside, making a mental note to report - confidentially - to Marshal Trahearne that Forgal seems utterly incapable of effectively and politely working with people who happen to claim membership of the Order of Whispers. Maybe she can finally figure out if the Pact's leader is prone to favoritism.

Vriré dives under the water and swims out a ways, then pulls out a fun little device the Order had invented while collaborating with the dredge. It's a portable, long-range echolocation device that works underwater, and she'd brought one along as soon as she knew she would be tracking a largos. Largos _can_ echolocate, so she hadn't been sure how she would use it, but she'd brought it just in case. Her A-Key is versatile, but this kind of specialized ability is beyond it.

She isn't sure if krait can echolocate, but that's a risk she'll have to take. She activates the device and waves it slowly through the water. After a moment, the reading shows up like a geographical scan, detailing the silhouettes of shapes the sound waves had bounced off of. Sure enough, in the distance, the outlines of serpentine figures herald the krait. _Very_ far in the distance.

They are far enough away that Vriré can't see how many there are, but they are in two distinct groups. Reluctantly, she activates the device again to get a clue for the trajectory and speed of each group.

The krait are definitely coming separately - at a decent rate of speed, but slower than they could move if they chose - and Vriré doesn't dare get close enough to see which group has the orb. But they won't reach the shore until tomorrow morning. She returns to where Apatia and Forgal are.

"Alright, bad news," Vriré reports. "There are two caravans - one must be a decoy. The good news is, they won't get here until tomorrow."

"We'll have to split up, then," Apatia says with a frown. "I can plant bombs in the paths of both caravans to make up for it, and we'll have to set up a rendezvous point. I'd volunteer, but that would leave you two together."

Vriré glances at Forgal, then opens her mouth to volunteer - the two Vigil can fight together, and Vriré has fought alone for five years - but Forgal interrupts her.

"I'll go," the norn says. After a moment, he adds, "so the Crusader can keep an eye on you, Lightbringer."

_That was absolutely an excuse._ Vriré wishes she knew what his real reason was. Whoever fights alone has more chance of dying - and Vriré knows that Forgal would just love to see her dead.

"Lightbringer, where are the krait coming in?" Crusader Apatia asks, waving her over to where she has spread a map on the ground.

"Along these two routes," Vriré tells her, tracing lines. "I'd suggest planting the bombs here and here."

"Why there specifically?" the Crusader asks with a frown.

"It's out of the water. For one thing, the bombs won't burn as well in water - unless they're a special type, but even so - and the krait are less mobile on land. And we are more effective on land. And they might have an underwater signal system for calling allies."

"Good thinking," the Crusader notes. "Very well. I'll alert you when I'm done. Warmaster Forgal can take the one coming here, and you and I will head to the other one."

"Understood," Vriré replies while the Crusader busies herself with planting the bombs for Forgal. "Where will we meet?"

Apatia takes a moment to peer at the map. "Here," she says, tapping a spot a little north. "In this clearing here. We'll set out for the second location as soon as I'm done planting these bombs, then wait until the krait arrive tomorrow."

* * *

The Pact had survived it's beginning stages. It is based in its headquarters now, as of today, the fortieth of the Scion Season. It has reunited with one of its Champions. No glitches have occurred since the thirty-fifth - the day the Champions set out. But Trahearne's worries have not eased. Fiona is still missing. Tiffany, Forgal, and Vriré are still away. No promising leads have been found on Tactician Syska. Nothing had occurred to say the glitches have stopped for good, and there is no reason they would. He had wished for their unseen adversary to cease, but now the silence worries him more.

Tactician Syska may have had something to do with the glitches. But the Aspect of Deception had been used, and Syska is a warrior. She may have just been a victim, like Fiona. Unless Syska is a red herring. Or a mercenary - she's at least underhanded enough to sell weapons to the Flame Legion - in the employ of whatever real intelligence is behind the glitches. That would rule out Zhaitan… but those are all pure speculation on unfounded assumptions.

All these questions, and no answers.

Like Orr. Trahearne sighs and runs a hand through his head-leaves.

The _Pact_ is his home, now, his new Wyld Hunt. Trahearne knows he won't ever forget Orr, but… he can feel the life in the Pact's spirit of unity. The hope and promise of a brighter future. The determination to stand against darkness. All glowing in his heart, like some alternate facet of himself. He had grown beyond Orr - he now leads a military organization to take down an Elder Dragon that is threatening all of Tyria.

And he is terrified of failing. More terrified than he had ever felt facing his Wyld Hunt - that at least he could keep trying at until time bested him. This is… different. One wrong move, and the only hope to save Tyria will disappear.

Trahearne wants to let the Pact loose into Orr and see what happens. See how it grows, and overcomes - because he is sure it can. He feels like a small rock holding back the tide of the spirit of unity, anxiously trying to direct it. The Pact will go where he points it, but everything seems large and unpredictable and terrifying. And somehow, it's all his responsibility.

He doesn't want them all to die. Trahearne stares out over Terzetto Bay to the faint outline of Orr in the distance. He doesn't want them all to die. He grips the railing of the airship moored on the southwestern edge of Fort Trinity. They _are_ going to die.

He can't let them die. These are his people now, as much as Orr was his country. He can't let them die. He can't let them be taken by Zhaitan's foul corruption. He should turn back now, before it is too late. But that, Trahearne knows, is impossible. They followed him here to fight and die. That is the whole point.

Trahearne isn't ready for this. He can't do this. All these lives, all his people, _his_ people - he can't let them die! He'd lost Orr, and his Wyld Hunt - he can't lose his people. Even just some of them. But he knows they will. It feels like his life, his world, is slipping away, and he can do nothing to stop it.

_What if I just don't try, if they'll die anyway?_ Trahearne squashes that thought immediately. He has to try.

"Trahearne!" comes Sieran's voice from behind him.

Trahearne turns. "Sieran! Good to see you. Have I mentioned your excellent work on this fortress?"

Sieran beams. "You have now! It was actually much easier than I expected."

"In any case, your work is admirable. There are many other ruins in Orr that I was considering refitting into Pact outposts; do you think you would be up for the job?"

Sieran considers this a moment. "As long as I'm not always away. I missed you and Fiona."

Fiona is still missing. Trahearne glances toward Orr again. Maybe she is dead. A cold chill skitters through his leaves. Fiona is like a sister to him. Through the Dream he knows she is not dead, but the fear will not leave him.

"We'll do our best to get her back," Sieran tells him quietly.

Trahearne nods. "I know."

After a moment of silence, Sieran sighs. "Well, the Pact is ready."

He blinks. "Ready for what?"

"A… grand announcement of how we've made it this far and will press on until we kill Zhaitan or die trying?"

Trahearne's eyes widen. _A speech?_ He runs a hand through his head-leaves nervously. "Wouldn't you be better at that than I?"

Sieran smiles in amusement. "Oh, come on! It'll be cherry, trust me. You're the Marshal of the Pact. You have to show them that you can be a good leader and that you know what you're doing. I _am_ the one who talks to Fiona who talks about Tiffany and the Vigil all the time. Speeches foster loyalty and boost morale and all that sort of thing."

Trahearne knows it's necessary. He's a leader now. "But I - " _am terrified? Am not ready for this? I have no warning, by the bough, you can't just - _

Sieran grabs his hand and drags him to Caer Aval. "You'll do cherry," she assures him.

Trahearne can't think of anything except that he might be about to make a very big fool of himself. _A scholar trying to lead an army. Who ever agreed to this idea?_ Trahearne has only a moment to remember that he got _himself_ into this mess before he is facing a crowd of Pact soldiers, all looking to him as their leader.

Trahearne is suddenly struck by how… idle this is. A pompous performance. Making no headway toward killing Zhaitan. But it is necessary. Everything is necessary. "There is much darkness ahead of us," he announces. "Orr is full of death. But we represent Tyria's last hope, and we cannot fail. We have reached Zhaitan's doorstep! We have pushed through many troubles to get here, and I intend to see Zhaitan's defeat, whatever it takes. We are strong! We are unified! Zhaitan is but one, despite its armies. From Fort Trinity, we will strike into the heart of Orr and slay the dragon! However difficult the journey, however resilient our foes, we will prevail. It can be done! Let no one tell you it cannot. It can be done."

"It can be done," Sieran echoes at his side.

"It can be done!" The shout is taken up from the crowd, and Trahearne blinks as he realizes that he had _not_ made a fool of himself. _Maybe I will be able to manage leading this war._

He just hopes nobody dies. _No more dead because of me. Please. Riannoc was enough._

* * *

Fiona is still plotting her escape. Just because the Dream let her get captured doesn't mean she shouldn't look after herself. If it doesn't want her to escape, it'll tell her - but it had permitted her to escape yesterday, even if it did end badly.

Koltir had said that east was the wrong way, so next time, Fiona will head west. She doesn't have a map of Tyria in her head like it seems Tiffany does so often, but the first priority is getting out of the Brand, which she does know is largely impossible if you head north or south.

The door to the dungeon opens, and Grania comes down. "You're wanted in the kitchens," she says quietly, and waves an odd-looking stone where the latch of the door should be. The door pops open.

Fiona looks at it curiously for a moment, then follows the meek female up the stairs. The kitchen area is closer to the surface than the dungeons, but it is still subterranean. Grania keeps darting odd glances at her, but she doesn't speak.

"…and have it ready within half a tick," Asprena is telling a female named Elylor. Asprena turns and snarls upon seeing Fiona. "Human! Get over there and tend that fire!" she barks.

Fiona is slightly surprised by Asprena's abrupt change of tone, but complies. She'd helped her father burn enough piles of wood and underbrush to know how this works. One of her favorite pastimes, in fact. The fire had already been rekindled, but the flames are still small. Fiona glances around for wood to build it up with, but sees none. She stares at the fire for a moment, then narrows her eyes. _Is this a test?_ Why assign a non-Flame Legion to tend to a fire - when, of course, Flame magic needs no wood to burn?

She considers it for a moment. If she approaches Asprena, she risks the female's ire; if she doesn't, she is incapable of building the fire, and still risks Asprena's anger. And the anger of the males who get their meal late. She could ask one of the other females - quietly, trying to avoid a scene - to help her, but that would just make her look weak.

Fiona glances at Asprena. Admitting that she can't use fire magic also makes her look weak. But… there's no reason she _should_ be able to use fire magic. She stands up and approaches the lead female.

"What is it?" Asprena snaps.

"I can't use fire magic," Fiona replies simply, trying to keep signs of fear or hesitancy from her face. She would ask for wood, but there probably isn't any in the Brand.

Asprena glowers at her for a long moment. "Cigok! Get over here and handle the fire!" She snarls at Fiona. "Bring me three portions of dried meat!" Fiona blinks. "On the counter, human!" Asprena snarls.

Fiona turns and hurries across the kitchen. She picks up the dried meat - her shoulder twinging painfully at the motion where Clawburn had scratched her - and turns back toward Asprena. She notices Calera - the female who had sent her out yesterday - watching her. Calera meets Fiona's eyes for a long moment, then turns back to her task.

After bringing the meat to Asprena, Fiona is given another task. The kitchen is busy and nobody talks except Asprena, who seems to be in a foul mood.

Fiona doesn't see Eda anywhere, but a door in the far corner suggests more rooms further on. A female named Orchard - rather than stealing glances at her like Grania or staring occasionally like Calera, keeps an almost wary eye on her, as if wondering what she'll do next.

Fiona, however, is mostly preoccupied with her tasks and her shoulder, which hadn't healed as much during the night, and throbs with every motion. Hopefully it can have a chance to heal more tonight.

At one point, Orchard is sent up to the surface where the males are, and Fiona realizes that this will just get more common as the day goes on. She doesn't know if it's possible to avoid going up into the main camp; females do all the small tasks, not just the cooking and cleaning, and the males want to keep an eye on their servants. Not that she _wants_ to stay in the underground kitchens, but the males might want her to stay out of their sight for a while. She sighs. _Well, look what happened to 'getting along with my captors,'_ Fiona notes ruefully.

Sure enough, she is eventually sent out at mealtime to bring the males their food while they sit around a campfire; and she finds herself serving Kadon, who turns out to be Clawburn's second - a Legionnaire from another warband, if his last name - Embersmite - is any indication. Fiona does wonder why Clawburn would pick a second from another warband rather than his own, but there could be any number of reasons why.

"Don't cause any trouble, female," Kadon warns with a scowl. "I've half a mind to shred your soft skin if you look at me wrong, so watch it."

Fiona pauses. She really wants to give him a sharp retort, but he'd only insulted her race and sex, both things that don't really define who she is as a person, so she settles for mentally calling him a blind idiot. Of course, this raises the question of how he got to be a Legionnaire if he's so stupid, but that's answered with 'culture.' _This is why the Flame Legion is losing._

She'd narrowly avoided another confrontation, but she doesn't think it will be long before things heat up again.

* * *

After a day of watching Tonn tinker with the recovered Inquest explosives, Tiffany is getting annoyed by Crusader Gutfire, who keeps grumbling about how long it is taking. Crusader Gilley keeps rolling her eyes at him.

It is the next morning - on the fortieth - before Tonn is done with the explosives.

"The explosives are ready, PC Tiffany!" Tonn says cheerfully. "All ready to go - top-of-the-line explosives with proper safety." He continues, mumbling as if talking to himself, "I also fixed a faulty transmission wire, readjusted the connection to the detonator, realigned the light displays to standard color…"

"Good," Tiffany says firmly. "Let's go."

There's one problem with 'going,' however - there are Risen. Lots of Risen, between the waypoint and the island Tonn is planning to place the detonator on, between that island and the ship, between that island and the mainland, and between the ship and the mainland.

And Inquest - it seems they want their bomb back. It also seems that they knew when and where the group carrying it would be. More communications glitches - _great_.

Their first warning that the Inquest are on to them is, luckily, because of Risen.

"Whoa!" Tonn notes. "We're lucky there are Risen all over the place! That one just set off a bounding mine. I know what to look for, but I'm not looking for it all the time. They launch into the air and explode when triggered, intended to maximize the number of victims. I hardly need to tell you this, but they hurt."

Tiffany looks at the Risen that had just been blown up - torn to shreds. _Well, that's one way to detect traps._

"So what do we look for?" Crusader Gilley asks.

"The Inquest are tricky," Tonn tells them, "but you cannot plant mines without digging a few holes. Dirt mounts are a dead giveaway - give them a wide berth. And keep an eye out for the Inquest themselves."

Dirt mounds? Tiffany glances over the beach. Dirt mounds are everywhere - she hopes the bombs have a small trigger radius. Glancing back at the team - Tonn, Crusader Gilley, and Crusader Gutfire - she hopes they all make it through in one piece.

The group move forward at a painfully slow pace. Mines are everywhere, and while they are all fairly agile, the proximity of the mines to each other is very dangerous.

Halfway through the minefield, however, Inquest reveal themselves, charging.

"How are they not exploding?" Tiffany wonders.

"They're wearing anti-exploding harnesses!" Tonn replies. "At least, in essence. I don't know exactly, but I can tell you after."

Tiffany narrows her eyes. Just how do the mines detect people? Is it motion, or maybe heat? Tiffany experiments - she shoots an arrow onto a dirt mound that an Inquest scientist had just passed.

Oops. "Cover yourselves!" Tiffany hollers. Apparently the _target_ radius is much bigger than the activation radius, and her arrow has just set off a chain reaction. The whole field will be gone in less than a minute.

The five of them are close together, but that doesn't seem to help anything.

"Shut it off!" comes an asuran-sounding holler on the other side of the minefield. "Shut it off, we've got - " the voice cuts off suddenly, and a moment later, so do the explosions.

The Inquest that were among the mines are all dead, and that whole side of the minefield is blackened and riddled with craters. There are other Inquest, however, but Tiffany's first priority is getting out of the range of any mines that haven't yet exploded.

Once they cross what remains of the minefield, they come face to face with a bunch of Inquest, who promptly attack.

Beorn is bigger than them - asura have always been laughably easy to defeat - so Tiffany focuses on making sure no lucky Inquest can grab the bomb that Tonn is carrying. A good thing, too - several nearly succeed.

"Oh, no you don't," Tiffany warns, reaching out to grab the asura. She misses, and only snatches the ear of the runaway Inquest asura, but it is possibly more effective than Tiffany's target of her shoulder. She squeaks, squirming, but gingerly to prevent her ear from being hurt. _Are ears 'below the belt' in asuran culture?_ "Drop the bomb," Tiffany instructs her. "Run away and don't come back. Beorn?"

Beorn growls at the asura and finishes mauling the one he'd been attacking. She drops the bomb and, when Tiffany releases her, turns and runs.

Tiffany doesn't dare touch the bomb - who knows where the activation switch is - but she guards it until the other Inquest are defeated.

"Got it?" Tonn asks. "Good. I don't think we'll have to deal with them any more. Well, let's get this beauty to the Dead Ship!"

After fighting through a bunch of Risen, they arrive at the 'detonator island' - as Tonn has termed the large sandbar that will be out of danger when the ship explodes. Tonn carefully sets up the detonator, then instructs Crusader Gilley and the charr to guard it.

"Well, this is it, partner," Tonn tells Tiffany. "We sink the Dead Ship, cover ourselves in glory, then I move on to the next mission and you move on to more Champion-type stuff. Sad, really; we make a great team. I almost wish I still had to hustle to get caught up."

Tiffany grimaces, worrying more about the upcoming explosion than about what happens after. "Yeah, I suppose. I'm sure you could get any old lump to hack bad guys to death."

"Hey!" Tonn protests. "Only you can hack bad guys to death as well as I need!"

Tiffany laughs. "Never change, Tonn. Let's do this. Maybe I can come with you on some other missions when I'm not busy."

Tiffany and Tonn - Beorn had stayed behind with the others to guard the detonator - swim cautiously through the water toward the Dead Ship, giving floating mines, krait, and undead sharks a wide berth.

When they arrive at the Dead Ship, Tiffany fends off a few Risen that had noticed them while Tonn plants the charges. "Payload delivered," he informs her cheerfully. "Now, let's paddle ourselves outta here, on the double."

Tiffany agrees, and the two return to the island in the same slow manner. Tonn bounces out of the water in his usual excitable manner. "Hold on to your ears, everyone!" he beams. "This is going to be my masterpiece! Uh… wait. The detonator is showing red," Tonn says, frowning. "I specifically checked the connections, they were perfect when I planted them!"

"Something must be knocked out of position," the charr grumbles at him. "Happens all the time."

Tiffany's heart rate jumps. Tonn _had_ fixed the wiring connection, this wasn't supposed to happen!

"PC Tiffany, we have krait inbound!" Crusader Gilley shouts. "Closing fast, and they look like they mean business!"

"All right, I'll reset the charges on the ship, you keep the krait off the detonator," Tonn decides.

"No!" Tiffany says, thinking fast. It was the blast that had killed him, she remembers, so there would be nothing she could do about it besides keeping him here - but then the explosive won't go off… "you can't go alone," she tells him firmly. "We'll fend off the krait and then we can go check the connection." Maybe she can think of something.

Tonn frowns for a moment, then shrugs. "Alright, your call, Tiffany. Let's hack these bad guys to death!"

Tiffany goes in with her axes, keeping one eye on Tonn to make sure he isn't killed prematurely. _Prematurely? What am I, a failure? Not gonna happen._ Tonn won't die - Tiffany will make sure of it. Somehow. She cuts off the head of another krait.

Soon, the Risen krait stop coming. "That was… odd," Crusader Gilley notes. "When the krait attack, they usually come in stronger force than that."

"Maybe they're distracted with the Risen," Tiffany suggests absently, trying to figure out how to save Tonn. _I was stupid to think this could be solved so easily just by my being here._

Tonn checks the detonator again. "Still red," he notes. "Well, let's go fix it!"

"When should we set it off?" Gutfire asks, gesturing.

"Wait until we return," Tiffany says firmly. "It's safer that way."

"Oh, it's fine, Champion," Tonn says dismissively. "The light won't turn green until a built-in time delay has passed, giving us plenty of time to get out of range. Now, I'd certainly like to be on hand to see the ship go boom, so do please wait if you can," he tells the charr.

After a much quicker trip to the ship - many of the floating mines seem to have exploded, and a bunch of the Risen sharks are dead - Tonn frowns at the explosive. "Something's wrong, all right. This isn't a wire that got knocked out of place - somebody's been here." He sighs. "An _amateur_ has been here. I'm surprised it didn't blow up in their face."

Glancing around warily, Tiffany sees a Risen - a human in raggedy, torn clothing - heading toward them. "Risen incoming," she tells Tonn. "You fix the bomb, I'll hold them off."

She'd brought a steel spear with her this time - a harpoon gun is of no use up close, and Beorn had stayed on the island - so she swims out to meet the Risen. In the water, Tiffany's movements are exaggerated and mostly momentum-based, and she feels vulnerable, especially without Beorn. She is not good at using the spear, although all the edges of the head are sharpened, so she can use it as a slashing weapon as well as for stabbing.

After some maneuvering, she gets the spear through the Risen's head, twists, and yanks it out again. Tiffany pauses for a moment, watching it, until she is sure it has been killed. The movement of the current makes it hard to tell.

"More over here, Champion," Tonn tells her, and Tiffany turns and heads in his direction.

The spear leaves her off balance, and she moves much slower than normally. "Have I ever said how much I hate underwater combat?" she grumbles.

"Not yet, but the sentiment is shared," Tonn replies, a grimace in his voice. "Bombs that are still effective underwater are really - ugh - really hard to design, harder to carry, and tend to short out when dry. And ten times as hard to repair while underwater. I got this Risen, but there's more coming."

Tiffany finally reaches the asura, who has a scowl on his face as he tinkers with the bomb embedded in the side of the ship.

"If they're coming to us, let them come," Tiffany decides. "These ones are stupid enough to impale their own selves on this spear."

"Don't count on it," Tonn reminds her.

"I never do." Tiffany braces herself against the ship's side and thrusts the spear into the closest Risen as it approaches. The others aren't much smarter, but there are a lot of them. "ETA?" she asks Tonn.

"Two more minutes," the asura replies, sounding slightly frustrated. "This stupid thing doesn't recognize the touch of its original creator!"

The next Risen sticks on the end of the spear, and Tiffany uses it to knock the others away. She floats slowly to the end and kicks the Risen off of the point, and then spins around, slicing through the other Risen that had surrounded her. Now they're stuck like fish on a string. _Great._ She pulls out a dagger and hacks at the undead bodies, cutting them off one by one. At least she'd killed them all.

Or not - there's one more straggler coming up. Even one can cause severe damage. Frustrated, Tiffany slashes violently at the last corpse hanging on her spear. _Why did I ever think this was a good idea?_ It comes off and floats away in the current like the others, and Tiffany pushes off the edge of the ship at the last Risen, going all the way through it. _I impaled it so hard it came off the other end. Why don't they do that all the time?_ Tiffany grumbles.

"Got it, Champion!" Tonn calls happily. "It's fixed! And there's one last Risen over here. I'm out of water grenades."

"Coming," Tiffany says with a sigh. "Risen are the most annoying sort of dragon minions. Because they're so weak and defenseless and easy to kill, but you have to bother about killing them because even one can wreak unimaginable havoc. Grumble."

"Did you just say 'grumble' out loud?"

"I did," Tiffany replies, as she swims past him. "I'm weird."

"No weirder than me," Tonn tells her.

"Hey! That's my line," Tiffany retorts. "I - oh." The last Risen is another human wearing armor that is heavily rusted, but still recognizable as Seraph. Tiffany catches her breath, and her heart clenches. There is a stinging behind her eyes.. _Deborah. No. Not again. Please not again._

"Champion?" Tonn queries, swimming down beside her. "It's just a Risen?"

"It's my sister," Tiffany replies, blinking. She takes a breath and raises her spear in front of her. But she feels weak. Tired. _Why…_

"Oh."

There is a moment of silence as the Risen approaches. Tiffany's thoughts are slow, detached. _I knew there was something wrong when I killed her last time. I should've known. How did I forget that they tend to rise more than once? She was floating back toward Orr in the river. Why couldn't Zhaitan leave her alone?_

Tiffany narrows her eyes. She takes a deep breath, and her head clears slightly. Her sister here, again, helpless, raised into Zhaitan's service once more. Tiffany's ears twitch. _Well._ She takes another breath and swims forward. She doesn't want to fight her sister again. She reminds herself to breathe.

She wants to speak to the Risen, but she is conscious of Tonn's aquabreather radio. She doesn't dare turn her end off.

"No escape," the Risen says, her voice ringing hollow. The words are garbled in the water, but somehow Tiffany can still hear them. Deborah raises her own spear and attacks. Tiffany blocks her, but the Risen pulls her down. Tiffany kicks at the abomination, dislodging its grip on her weapon, and throws the spear at her. Deborah laughs and blocks it again, and takes possession of the extra weapon.

But Tiffany, much more mobile without the cumbersome spear, turns and swims to the bottom edge of the ship and clings there.

Deborah follows, but Tiffany - _why couldn't you leave her alone, you foul dragon_ \- launches off the ship and rams into the Risen, stunning it temporarily. Tiffany grabs hold of both spears and lets their weight carry her down to the ocean floor. Deborah recovers and pursues her.

Tiffany watches her approach for a moment - she can't help but see her sister behind those dead eyes - then takes a deep breath. Tiffany launches one spear after another at the Risen. One penetrates her shoulder and the other flies wide of its mark. While Deborah is distracted with the spear, Tiffany relocates to another location on the floor, trying to ignore the despair creeping on the edges of her mind.

When Deborah swims down after her, Tiffany keeps along the bottom until the Risen gets closer. Tiffany jumps at her, grabs her shoulders, and kicks her hard in the stomach. Tiffany wrestles the spear out of Deborah's hands and - after a prayer to the Dream for strength of body and spirit - takes a deep breath and jams it in the Risen skull.

The two sisters float apart slowly, one motionless, the other unable to look away. She allows the tears to come, mixing with the salt water. Her sister is dead. Finally at rest. Finally free from the dragon. Tiffany swims closer and reaches out to touch her sister's shoulder. She stops just short of the grey, Corruption-tainted corpse, then whispers, "some must fight so that all may be free." She closes her eyes for a moment, head bowed, then takes another long breath. Deborah is gone. Hopefully forever. Tiffany's mouth twists into a wry grimace.

"Tonn!" she calls. "Do you have any of those water-grenades left? I need to burn this corpse."

"No," he replies. "But if you leave it close to the ship, it might be caught in the blast."

"Can you help? I won't be able to bring her up and carry my weapon at the same time."

"Uh… wait… there's something - no, no!" Tonn yells. "It's going to blow! We have to get out of here, now!"

Tiffany shoots up off the bottom of the sea toward Tonn, leaving spear and Risen behind. She grabs Tonn as he kicks away from the bomb and kicks off the ship, shooting away from it. She prays that she'll at least be far enough away that it will only accelerate her movement. She feels the reaction of the water before the explosion gets to her, and she curls protectively around the asura as the concussive blast slams into them.

Tiffany gasps at the force, and pain spikes in her chest. The rush of water propels them in Tiffany's chosen direction, straight into one of the last floating mines, which - a split second after impact - activates. Neither one of the two are even knocked unconscious by the tiny - at least in comparison - bomb, but they are dazed and disabled in a far more serious way than the extra broken bones the two of them suffer.

Tiffany's aquabreather has been broken beyond repair by the explosion and, worse, she had not been ready for it, all her breath having been knocked out of her by ramming into the mine. _Plus broken ribs?_ she wonders distantly. In addition, Tonn is no condition to be helping - rather, he seems almost incapable of moving properly, kicking weakly in the water and moving sluggishly.

Tiffany's vision is fading quickly as she struggles not to inhale. She strains to remain still and unmoving so as not to use what tiny molecules of oxygen might be left in her lungs. She struggles against her instincts to inhale.

Suddenly, she feels something on her face, and inhales suddenly before she can stop herself. But oxygen floods into her lungs, and she nearly faints in relief. She opens her eyes to see Tonn holding his aquabreather to her mouth. Tiffany takes a few more breaths from it, before returning the life-saving device to him, this time ready to hold her breath. She nods at him to say thanks.

But now they are in a predicament; neither of them are in any condition to be swimming anywhere, and while aquabreathers filter oxygen out of water, and Tiffany and Tonn can pass it back and forth indefinitely, they won't get anywhere by doing so.

Tiffany's panic is calming down now - which is good, because panicking uses up oxygen - and her rational side kicks in. She glances back at the Dead Ship, now a floating wreck, and she gives Tonn the thumbs-up.

She glances around again, looking for a solution. Her heart sinks as she sees Risen approaching them in a swarm from the wreck of the Dead Ship. _Couldn't they have come out __before__ the explosion, like the earlier ones did?_

Tiffany's lungs remind her that she needs oxygen, so she motions to Tonn for the aquabreather, which he hands over instantly with a surprised look on his face. Refilling her lungs with a few breaths, Tiffany hands it back, aware that Tonn likely has a smaller lung capacity than she does.

Tiffany glances back at the Risen approaching them, now wishing she'd drowned rather than be torn to shreds and then Risen herself.

And then, of course, Beorn pokes her mentally, slightly insulted that Tiffany had forgotten about him. He is almost there, it turns out.

Of course - Beorn would have felt her overwhelming panic when the explosive went off. Joy lights up Tiffany's face, drawing a confused look from Tonn. Of course she can count on Beorn. She sends a small prayer of thanks to the Dream.

But then, reality sets in. Beorn can't fight the Risen, not with Tiffany and Tonn incapacitated, not if he didn't bring the others.

Beorn appears out of the murky water, and he is alone. Beorn sends her regret - _I tried_ \- anger - _but they wouldn't listen_ \- and determination - _I'll get you out of here_ \- coupled with certainty - _don't worry_.

Tiffany, still doubtful that Beorn can take on that many Risen alone, twists to look after him as he swims toward the Risen. She glances at Tonn who is shaking his head in astonished disbelief, and grins at him for a moment before glancing at Beorn again.

Beorn engages the Risen, and Tiffany wishes with all her heart she could be helping him - since when had Beorn fought a foe without her helping him? Since when had she just stood there and watched him face impossible odds?

She tries to move - to go help him - but pain shoots down her back and she gasps involuntarily, sucking in water. She tries to spit it out, but it is too late - even using the aquabreather won't help, not until she is on dry land and can eject the water from her lungs. Or unless an elementalist shows up - could that fix it? - but that's not a reasonable hope.

Tonn seems to realize this, so he grabs her arm and tries to bring her to the surface. But he is injured himself, and Tiffany is much bigger than he is.

Beorn is now in the stuck position of what to do now - go get help for Tiffany before she drowns, or keep the Risen away. He decides to keep the Risen away, if for no reason other than the fact that it would take too long to get help.

In that endeavor, he is successful - the Risen all attack him.

But in the second, Tiffany is dying - Tonn is holding the aquabreather to her mouth, and Tiffany is trying to breathe, but the water in her lungs makes it useless. Her vision is fading, and Tiffany is fighting to suck oxygen through the aquabreather, she is kicking as if by reflex - it _hurts_ \- and Beorn's own panic is infecting her, rebounding through the link and the Dream, magnifying again and again. Tiffany wonders vaguely whether she might die of a heart attack before she drowns.

The feeling of water in her lungs is such an odd feeling, Tiffany notes, like carrying bags of the liquid inside her, weighing her down, increasing the percentage of water in her body… even more curious is the feeling of not having any oxygen, even though she is breathing perfectly fine air.

She almost laughs as the most random idea pops into her head - what if Eir is secretly an elementalist and can turn into air and do all sorts of hilarious, punny* things?

The aquabreather vanishes for a moment as Tonn breathes through it for a moment, but he returns it to Tiffany almost immediately.

Blackness is encroaching on Tiffany's vision, panic is flooding through from Beorn, and Tonn is shaking her, trying to keep her awake, alive - but nothing is working.

Tiffany is dying.

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

…

_duhn duhn duhn!_

Yes. You have to wait until the next chapter. Go, freak out. Do fan-theories on Discord (HwkW8vy). Fiona is captured and Tiffany is dying! What will happen to the _Tassof Series!_

And, uh... news just came up. I won't be home tonight, so I can't write and post the next chapter until TWO days. Sorry. This is literally last-minute.


	12. Chapter 11: Mixed Signals

THE UNBROKEN

* * *

Dedication: Tybalt Leftpaw, for being super hard to write. He ended up just asking questions the whole time because he wasn't important for the scene. Sorry, Tybalt. I didn't even manage a reference to apples. (I'm normally _really good_ at referencing people's backstories.) I don't play Whispers enough, probably.

* * *

Chapter eleven: Mixed Signal

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

This is a shorter chapter. But it's a bonus chapter with mostly stuff you've already read, so…

Also, I'm not entirely clear why I named this chapter _Mixed Signals_. I'm not sure at all. Probably it's my brain going 'wait, what?' because it's so early in the morning/late at night, depending on whether you ask the nocturnal side of my brain or the normal side. Both want to go to sleep.

_**Okay, here's the story now:**_

* * *

Vriré and Crusader Apatia are awake before dawn. "Go use that device of yours to see how close the krait are," Crusader Apatia tells Vriré. They had made camp behind a cluster of large, bush-like trees right next to the beach.

Vriré ducks under the water and activates the echolocator twice, then returns to the Crusader. "They'll be here within a tick."

Apatia double-checks her bombs, and Vriré watches the water from behind the bushes. Once Apatia is sure the bombs are secure, she joins Vriré to wait for the krait to activate them.

As the krait approach, Vriré scans the caravan, looking for the orb. She doesn't see it before the bombs are triggered. Many krait are killed in the blast, and others injured.

Apatia charges forward, axe spinning. _But where's the orb?_ Vriré wonders, drawing her own axes. She carefully circles the caravan while Apatia distracts the krait, but she doesn't see the orb. _This must be the decoy,_ she realizes. _Warmaster Forgal is fighting the real thing alone._

But the plan had been set earlier, and Forgal had volunteered, so Vriré sets about killing the krait that are here. She is on the other side of the caravan from Apatia, but the Crusader can handle krait.

But then, from behind her, she hears a shout. Vriré spins around to see more krait arriving. It only takes her a split second to analyze the situation and realize that there is no reason for she and the Crusader to stay. "Retreat!" she shouts. "More incoming!"

She glances toward where Crusader Apatia is fighting, but can't see her over the heads of the krait. No matter. The Crusader is smart and a good warrior. Vriré falls back into the large bushes and, after making sure she isn't being followed, makes her way west, to the rendezvous point.

After a while, Warmaster Forgal appears with the orb. It's huge - Vriré might not have been able to lift it. _Did the other caravan have backup?_ she wonders.

"Where's the Crusader?" the Warmaster asks sharply.

"We had to retreat - they had backup - but we were separated. She hasn't returned," Vriré replies with a frown.

"We'll go look for her," Forgal says as if it were obvious. He carefully hides the orb behind a large rock. "Well, lead the way, then," he tells her with some irritation. "I don't know where you went."

Vriré shrugs and sets off back to the ambush site. "Did the real caravan have backup, as well?" she asks. She doesn't doubt they did. This orb must be spectacularly powerful for the krait to defend it so zealously. That, or they think it has something to do with whatever it is they worship.

"They did, but they only arrived as I was leaving. I went straight for the orb."

"I hope you didn't let them follow you," Vriré asks sharply.

"I'm insulted," Forgal says flatly. "I'll have you know I've been fighting and hunting for more than a hundred years."

"I didn't know the Vigil did hit-and-run missions. Wouldn't you have wanted to kill all the krait so they don't terrorize an innocent village?"

"Not alone. Now that we have the orb, the krait will be weakened by having to deal with the Risen, and without such a sensitive mission on the line, we can send a whole squad in to deal with them. Contrary to popular opinion, just because we kill every enemy we see doesn't mean we are stupid."

"I never thought so."

"Good."

When they arrive at the ambush site, there is no sign of the krait. Even the bodies have vanished.

"Well, we know Apatia didn't kill them all," Vriré observes. "And we didn't see her on the way."

"Here's her axe," Forgal notes, picking up the weapon out of the sand. "Does she have another weapon?"

Vriré shakes her head. "No - she held a shield in her off hand."

"So she's defenseless, and the krait have retreated," Forgal frowns. "Sounds like she was captured." He glances at Vriré.

Vriré stares back at him, an eyebrow raised. _What, Warmaster, you think I engineered this?_ She instantly thinks of half-a-dozen ways she _could_ have engineered it, but that isn't the point.

Forgal glances toward the water again. After a moment of consideration, he says, "there's no way we can rescue her by ourselves. We'll bring the orb back to the Pact, then get a full squad out here."

Vriré darts her own suspicious glance at the water, then follows Forgal back toward where the orb had been hidden.

But hey, at least the stubborn Warmaster had kept his priorities straight this time. She'd have thought he'd charge in after the lost Crusader, bully her into coming along with him, and fruitlessly sacrifice both of their lives along with Apatia's. Maybe he _can_ learn.

* * *

As Forgal strides back to the rendezvous point, painfully aware of the asura following behind him, he forces himself to keep his eyes forward. She isn't going to shoot him in the back. She's an ally, and she'd proven - through time and decisions - that her focus is on the mission. But he'll still be glad to part ways with the asura. Hopefully he can lose her at camp and come back here with a Vigil contingent to rescue Crusader Apatia.

"I just had a thought," Lightbringer Vriré says dryly. "The Crusader isn't here to… 'mediate' any more."

"Your point being?" Forgal asks, with some irritation. _Can we __not__ just get the mission done as soon as possible?_

"That maybe you'll learn I _do_ care about the Pact and killing the dragons, regardless of what you seem to think."

"Maybe you'll learn that isn't the issue," Forgal retorts. Not that it is anything in her power to fix. He doesn't _enjoy_ making her deal with the side effects of his issues, and he wishes they would go away as much as she undoubtedly does. He'd never cared what other people thought of him - he'd always said his opinion, matter-of-fact, I'm-sorry-if-you-take-offense-but-that's-how-it-is, and never minded - but this is different, and it is affecting things that Tiffany says are vital to taking down Elder Dragons. He _hates_ this whole situation.

They arrive in the clearing, and Forgal takes the opportunity to step away from Vriré for a moment. He picks up the orb, noting again how large it is. Very few things that weren't designed with norn in mind are this large or heavy, and even for him - not knowing how fragile it is - it is advisable to carry it in both hands.

He focuses on the nearest Pact waypoint - Oxbow Isle, to the south - but nothing happens.

"Aha," Vriré notes dryly. "_There's_ it's drawback. It blocks corruption _and_ waypointing. At least outbound waypointing. We'll have to walk."

Forgal frowns. "We can't possibly get there and back in time to save Crusader Apatia if we walk," he points out.

Vriré frowns in thought. "It has to have some sort of radius of effect. If one of us stayed with the orb and the other - no, no, the krait will be back soon."

"We'll just have to move quickly, then," Forgal decides, and immediately sets out to the north. After a moment, he notices Vriré struggling to keep up, and checks his stride slightly, suppressing his irritation at yet another delay.

He briefly considers offering to carry the asura - a suggestion that will likely make her spitting mad - but rejects the idea. That is not a level of… familiarity he is willing to show to anybody, much less a Whispers agent.

Forgal just really wants this mission to be over already.

"Come to me. We must discuss."

Forgal turns quickly, hand dropping to his blade. He is slightly surprised to see that it is Sayeh, but his hand doesn't stray from the hilt of his sword.

"Do not be alarmed. I mean you no harm," the largos informs them. "I was intrigued by your interest in the orb, so I followed you. You handled yourselves well, until your partner miscalculated." She turns to the Lightbringer. "Is it customary of your people to abandon your allies in a fight?"

Forgal narrows his eyes slightly. Had Sayeh been there? How does she know what had occurred?

"Have _your_ people never heard of the concept of retreating?" Vriré snaps back.

"We have, though I thought it was considered polite to wait to receive confirmation from your superior that retreating _is_ the correct course of action."

Vriré looks stunned, and for a moment she does not reply.

Forgal winces. What a mistake. Technically she's in the wrong… but he finds he can't really blame her. Forgal decides to change the subject. "What do you know of the Crusader?" Forgal asks. "Is there a chance we could rescue her by ourselves?"

Vriré shoots him a suspicious look. Forgal represses an amused smile. _Oh, go on, be suspicious all you like, Lightbringer._ He is beginning to suspect that he knows her better than she knows him.

"No," Sayeh says simply. "The krait overwhelmed her and carried her off. She is no longer here. Among my people, we would say her steps have faltered and be done. My interest in you has waned. I shall depart from here soon. You should go, too. The krait will be back in force to recover the orb. The longer you stay, the more likely you'll end up lost, dead, or on a torture rack. That won't help your friend."

_By the Spirits, she - _"Well, that's one difference between your Tethyos Houses and the Vigil," Forgal snaps with a glare. "We never leave our own behind if we can help it." _Even __Vriré__ has that part right, and she's Whispers!_ He stares at the largos. "You've already broken yourself out of the krait cages - I refuse to believe you do not have the ability to help us rescue the Crusader."

Sayeh smiles in amusement. "You were heading _away_ from the krait before I showed myself."

_The krait might be passable to you, largos, but to us they happen to be significant threats,_ Forgal wants to say, but he isn't sure if admitting weakness and giving away a bargaining chip to the largos hunter-assassin - who is obviously playing with them - is a good idea.

"This orb takes precedence," Vriré tells Sayeh. "If the Crusader has given her life, she has not given it in vain. But we know you have the ability to free yourself, and alongside the two of us, we can be certain of success in rescuing our ally."

"My ability and my willingness are two separate things, little one," Sayeh retorts.

Forgal isn't going to play this game again. "Never count on a largos," he mutters. "Let us leave, Lightbringer. We can't waste any more time getting this orb to Trahearne, if we want to arrive back soon enough to even dream of helping Apatia."

Sayeh's eyes light up in interest. "You serve Trahearne?"

"Yes," Vriré grinds out with a glare. "What of it?"

After a moment of hesitation, Sayeh replies, "I will deliver the orb for you. I would enjoy visiting him again. I owe him a favor, and largos always keep our oaths."

_Trahearne __knows__ this madwoman?_ Forgal dismisses the thought for later. She'll deliver the orb, will she? "That helps nobody, largos, save yourself," he snaps. "I'm sure you can visit Trahearne at any time. So long as he agrees, of course." Even if she does owe Trahearne, Forgal isn't sure the young sylvari particularly wants to spend time with such a person as Sayeh.

"If you really want to honor your oath, help us rescue Crusader Apatia," Vriré demands.

"My oath is to Trahearne, not you," Sayeh points out with a hint of reprimand in it. "I mentioned it merely as an attempt to honor the landwalkers' social constructs - in this case, the inquisitiveness of always requiring to know why or how a person knows somebody else. Instead, you have taken advantage of knowledge I chose to share in good spirit." Her eyes glitter in disdain. "Occasionally, I am reminded why the others of my kind rarely appear on land." With a last, scornful glance, she disappears in a swirl of blackness.

* * *

"Lightbringer Tybalt!" comes a shout from the lookout tower on Irwin Isle. "Four Pact approaching from the water!"

"Agent Venrius," Tybalt says, turning to a nearby sylvari. "Tell Wallace to guide them in, would you?"

"Lightbringer," Venrius says with a frown, "this is a Whispers-only outpost…"

Tybalt frowns back at her. "And they're coming from the _water_, Agent. There are krait out there and they could be wounded. The Order of Whispers is allied with the Vigil and the Durmand Priory now, and this outpost is under my command."

"Understood, Lightbringer!" Venrius says, and hurries off.

"Agent Blonks?" Tybalt calls up to the lookout. "How close are they?"

"Very," Blonks replies. "Ah - Wallace has them now."

Tybalt turns toward the underwater entrance. A moment later, a charr carrying an unconscious human comes through, followed by another human carrying an injured asura. A bear is on their heels. Agent Venrius hovers behind them anxiously.

"What happened?" Tybalt asks urgently.

"Bombs," the charr replies shortly.

The asura twitches. "Call Ceera," he says. "Pact medic." He looks up at the human carrying him. "Let me down, Crusader. I need to help PC Tiffany."

Tybalt looks again at he unconscious human. It is indeed Pact Champion Tiffany. "Oh dear."

The asura hurries over. "Put her down, Gutfire. I know first aid." He glances at Tybalt again. "Call Ceera," he repeats. "Can anyone here get to the Pact quickly? Tell her Tonn needs her."

"Agent Blonks?" Tybalt asks.

"On it, Lightbringer!" Blonks calls back. He disappears in a puff of blue.

The charr - Gutfire - had put Pact Champion Tiffany on the ground, and Tonn is breathing into her mouth. The bear stands attentively by her head.

"What happened?" Tybalt asks again.

"Her aquabreather broke," the asura informs him, now doing chest compressions. "We were sharing mine. Then - I don't know. She breathed water." His sentences are short and choppy.

"Are _you_ alright?" Tybalt asks.

"Relatively. But no." Tonn breathes into the Champion's mouth again.

"Can you keep doing that until the medic gets here?"

"Depends how long. The Pact was already off schedule."

Tybalt glances around worriedly.

The Champion twitches slightly. The asura pauses and checks her pulse and breathing, then goes back to chest compressions. The bear's eyes are closed.

Agent Venrius stares at them. "You're connected to the Dream!"

The bear nods, but otherwise remains still.

Something cracks. Tonn flinches. "Oh… oh no… c'mon, Ceera, c'mon - "

"That sounded like a bone breaking," Gutfire states.

"It _was_. It's fairly common. With this method, at least. And she already had some - ah. There we go," he adds, as Pact Champion Tiffany vomits up salt water.

"Help me roll her over, Gilley," the asura says to the other human. He shows her how to position the unconscious Champion on her side, then makes sure her airway is clear and checks for a pulse again.

The waypoint flashes, and another asura appears, with Blonks behind her.

"Ceera! That was fast. I was doing CPR - can you - "

Ceera runs a critical eye over him first. "You're hurt," she states.

"Help Tiffany first! I'm fine - it's just pain - "

Ceera stares at him a moment, then turns to the Champion. "You owe me a full explanation after this, Tonn."

"I know. Will she be alright?"

There is a moment of silence. "Yes, I think she will be." Another pause. "Alchemy, did you learn nothing? At least half her ribs are broken!"

"Only one. The others were the bombs."

"Oh." Ceera glances at the bear. "Do you know how to take her with you to a waypoint? I know some of you rangers can."

The bear shakes his head no; but Agent Venrius steps in. "It's the same as what you were doing a minute ago with waking up; send her the intent to waypoint, then call it back through the Dream. It's hard to get right without waypointing just yourself, though - the more original the feeling when you send it, the better."

The bear stares at Tiffany for a moment, then vanishes in a puff of blue and reappears at the waypoint five feet away. He returns to Tiffany's side and tries again. After a few more fails, he manages to bring her with him.

"Can you go to Fort Trinity?" Ceera asks. The bear shakes his head. "Gloomirk? Spaecia Illogicia? Firebreak Fort? Yes! Go!"

She, the bear, and the Champion vanish simultaneously. A moment later, Tonn pops away along with Gilley and Gutfire, and the little outpost is as empty as it used to be.

"Well, that was… an adventure," Tybalt says. "Of sorts."

* * *

"And good riddance," Vriré mutters to herself as Sayeh al'Rajihd vanishes. She wishes she could feel the Aspect of Deception - the largos might be hanging around to watch them, or assassinate them, or anything else - but there is nothing she can do about that.

Forgal scowls. "Let's go."

"I think not," comes a new voice.

Vriré spins around, axes in her hands, eyes darting - the voice was not Sayeh's, but there is no telling how powerful the largos is with Deception. She sees nothing. Behind her, Forgal shouts, and she hears the clash of steel. She turns again to see a female charr with a greatsword in Vigil armor viciously attacking Forgal. Vriré - notwithstanding a moment of hesitancy, seeing that their assailant is Vigil - moves forward to join the fray, but then an identical female charr appears out of nowhere.

Vriré intercepts the new enemy before it reaches Forgal, but her mind races ahead. She doubts this is Sayeh. This is something else. Another communication glitch? A mesmer, certainly - had she been watching their conversation with Sayeh? Did she not dare attack with a largos around? In league with Sayeh, perhaps, attacking because of some perceived slight according to their Tethyos Compact?

"Are you friend or foe?" Vriré asks, trying to make sure whether or not it _is_ a glitch.

No reply. Instead, the illusion strikes at her, and Vriré blocks the blow with her axe, dodges away, and draws her swords instead.

She does know that illusions are more fragile than the real thing - partly because armor made of solid light doesn't work nearly as well as real armor, even if it is solid. She stabs the first illusion in the chest, and it shatters in butterflies around her blade.

She turns, and there are two more illusions. Forgal kills his, and another pops up to replace it.

Vriré is not tired. She will not be tired for another few hours of fighting. She is not severely wounded, nor has she lost much blood.

Vriré is not tired or wounded. She is _demoralized._

This unknown mesmer - and, by the Eternal Alchemy, Vriré _will_ be drilling Fiona on the capabilities of mesmers later - keeps bringing out more clones. Kill one, and another replaces it. Quite aside from _capabilities_, no mesmer should have enough power to make this endless stream of illusions.

To be fair, this mesmer is only bringing out three illusions at a time - Vriré has seen Fiona field twenty before, with visible effort - but the total number of illusions Vriré and Forgal have faced numbers much higher than twenty.

Two fighting three is also very nerve-wracking. There is always an extra, and Vriré never knows if the body she senses behind her is Forgal, the illusion Forgal is fighting, the replacement of the one she just killed, or the spare.

Being outnumbered is not the problem. Trying to cooperate with an ally - when the enemies all _look like_ allies - when said ally is _highly jumpy_ around yourself and thinks you're a personal threat - when you're not quite sure if said ally wants you dead or not - when _all of them_ are very much bigger and more stupid than yourself - when there is _also_ an extra enemy who hasn't shown herself yet - when the hidden enemy is clearly capable of outwitting you - when the hidden enemy might also be pretending to be your ally - when the whole point of the mission was communication glitches and you're not sure what to think - when you need to be moving quickly to rescue a captured ally - when there is also a largos lurking somewhere around who has no reason to be happy with you - when the krait will be here any minute - _these things_ make this fight ten times more difficult than it would be.

Vriré _wishes_ she was simply outnumbered. She stabs another illusion, and it shatters. She lets the next one come to her, dodges its blade, and sinks her own sword into it. Butterflies blossom around her blade, and she turns to the next one.

A minute later, she glances back to Forgal, and sees they have both been pushed apart significantly. The orb lies on the ground - where Forgal had dropped it upon the initiation of battle - halfway between them, in the grass. The third illusion - which becomes the second when Forgal shatters his assailant - runs away from the norn and toward Vriré. Another illusion pops up to distract Forgal, and Vriré moves to engage her new enemy.

But the illusion throws her greatsword at the orb as she passes, and a cry leaps to Vriré's lips - only for the blade to impact the orb point-first and shatter into butterflies, along with the clone that had thrown it. The orb remains unharmed.

Vriré is grabbed from behind suddenly, hoisted in the air, and slammed down onto the ground. She lands on her right wrist, breaking it. Vriré bites back a curse - _now_ she's significantly injured.

She glances up at the charr standing above her, then rolls over and uses her good arm to drive her own blade into the illusion's leg. It doesn't shatter, so Vriré rolls away from the illusion's strike, leaps to her feet, and charges again. The blade pierces the illusion's chest, it shatters, and she glances around for the next one.

She probably won't be able to survive this fight. She starts looking for ways to ensure the mission a success anyway. _If the illusion tried to destroy the orb, it obviously is a point of concern for the mesmer._ And if it isn't, the krait will be back any minute now to take it for themselves.

After awkwardly fending off another attack, she hurries across the clearing toward Forgal, not stopping to pick up the orb. One of the illusions bars her path, and Vriré strikes out with her left hand. The illusion dodges, and brings its own attack to bear on her, greatsword flashing through the air toward her. Vriré deflects it away from her head, but without a second hand free, she cannot take advantage of her opponent's openness and retaliate. The illusion rolls with the deflection, then comes around again, and the flat edge of the illusionary sword hits her shoulder with some force. Vriré stumbles back a step, her grip loose on her own sword. Grimacing, she tries to lift it, but her arm doesn't respond.

The illusion shoots a bolt of pink-purple magic at her, and she is pushed back several steps. She stumbles over the orb and falls to the ground, with the illusion standing over her. Surprisingly enough, after a moment, the illusion turns away and joins the other two fighting Forgal. Beams of mesmeric magic zap through the air to the norn, who blinks and stumbles and seems unsure what to do with his sword.

Vriré carefully gets to her feet - not sure what she can do now, but anything is better than sitting and watching an ally be slain in front of her - but one of the beams streaks over to her, and the world fragments into a million crisscrossed sections. Her sense of balance is skewed, and she feels herself land on one of the fragments, which then shatters itself - or something - and Vriré finally closes her eyes and presses her hands to her head. Her sense of balance is still destabilized, so she sits down - good, she can still _feel_ the ground properly - and waits for it to pass.

She is sitting, her eyes are closed, and she's near helpless. She steels her resolve for death, but nothing happens.

* * *

Nothing happens. Forgal's grip on his blade tightens - they hadn't even had to disarm him to render him useless - and he twitches in unreleased tension. _Come on, do it already, you spineless coward._ Still nothing happens.

Instead, the Deception fades - he can tell because his sense of balance rights itself - and Forgal opens his eyes to see the rest of his senses stable as well. He instantly looks for his assailants - but they have disappeared. Instead, his attention is caught by a Risen human. It isn't attacking. Forgal rises from his position - half-kneeling on the ground, hands spread for stability - and glances around to get his bearings. The world wobbles momentarily, and he puts a hand to his head. It comes away covered in blood. _Amazing._

"I'll take this," the Risen sneers, striding over to the krait orb. Next to it, Vriré is still sitting on the ground. She gets to her feet with some difficulty - Forgal can't see why, with the Risen in the way - and steps forward to stand between the Risen and the orb.

The Risen snorts. "Move, Champion."

It had outwitted himself and the Lightbringer in a battle, but now it isn't killing them. A _Risen_. This must be a spectacularly powerful lieutenant - and have some use for himself and Vriré beyond becoming fodder for Zhaitan's army. A _better_ use.

Zhaitan had never been more terrifying. Forgal recalls Trahearne's words in Lion's Arch, so long ago - _Despite appearances this far from Orr, Zhaitan is smarter than to just throw troops at an unwinnable battle. I expect its tactics to change drastically._ Forgal steps forward to flank the Risen, wondering why Vriré hasn't attacked yet, but he stumbles, lightheaded, and the bleeding cut on his head throbs painfully.

The illusion of the female charr appears, dodges his startled, slightly off-balance attack, and knocks his sword from his hand. In a moment, the illusion snatches the blade and carries it out of reach.

The Risen shoots him a contemptuous glance. "I'm smarter than that, norn," she scoffs.

"How are you so powerful?" Forgal demands in frustration.

"Same as everyone," the Risen hisses. "Born into it. I have been granted intelligence to wield it in my master's service. My former self was pathetic with the powers granted to her."

Forgal casts a sidelong glance at where the illusion now guards his blade. He darts a glance at the Lightbringer, still stubbornly standing between the Risen and the orb. _Why doesn't she pick up her blade and attack?_

"Move, Champion," the Risen says again.

"I won't let you take the orb," Vriré replies in a controlled, even tone. _Too_ controlled. There's something here that Forgal isn't seeing.

Forgal takes a careful step toward the illusion guarding his sword. A shimmering purple wall springs up, blocking his path. Forgal eyes it warily, then glances back at the Risen mesmer.

"Fine, if you're going to be that way," the Risen huffs, and, before the asura can react, a portal brings Vriré to Forgal's side. The Risen picks up the orb and forms another portal.

The mesmer pauses. She glances back at the two Pact Champions through the purple wall. "Oh, and your own mesmer friend has, unfortunately, met her match in myself. If you wish to go after her, trust my word that she is held at the Flame Legion camp, northeast of the Town of Cowlfang's Star, at the place known as Wreckage of Day's Labor."

Then, the Risen steps through the portal, and the illusion and purple wall vanish.

Forgal instantly strides over to where his sword is. He picks it up, then turns to where the Risen had vanished into the portal. He knows where Town of Cowlfang's Star is. He considers a moment, then sighs. There are a vast many other concerns that require his attention. He turns toward the Lightbringer.

"We - " he begins, intending to start a discussion of what to do next, but then he notices that the asura's left arm is hanging limp at her side - probably dislocated - and her right wrist is broken. "You're hurt."

He frowns slightly at his own surprise - they'd just been in a battle, of course there would be injuries. He'd suffered a few himself. _But nothing like this._ He hadn't expected injury to be the reason she hadn't done anything but stand there before the Risen. Forgal realizes with a jolt that she'd expected to die. Absentmindedly, he sheathes his blade.

She'd expected to die.

_What for? I was weaponless and the Risen would have gotten the orb anyway._

Vriré interrupts his thoughts. "Warmaster, I am perfectly aware of my own health at the moment," the Lightbringer tells him sternly. "We need to reconsider our strategy - which may or may not include subsisting upon my continued disability for the time being - given that the orb is no longer here, the largos refuses to help us, the krait will arrive at any moment, we have significant information for Marshal Trahearne, and another Pact Champion is in danger."

Forgal grimaces. "More people. We can't do all this by ourselves." Crusader Apatia, he has to admit, is a secondary concern. "We can tell Marshal Trahearne to send a squad to rescue the Crusader, and we can go find Fiona - the Flame Legion are weak and desperate, and taking other people will slow us down."

Vriré shakes her head. "Unless you have more information for locating the orb, this mission is over," the Lightbringer reminds him. "We need to report back to Marshal Trahearne. Neither of us is in a position to be determining what our next assignment is - even if it has nothing to do with the Crusader, the orb, or the mesmers."

Forgal hates it. He wants to go after the captives immediately - especially Fiona. He is not happy about entrusting the lives of those he cares about to other people - and no matter how much he trusts Trahearne, even Asvor had betrayed him and his loved ones. But he nods stonily. "We'd better move quickly, then, Lightbringer."

* * *

Vriré tries to waypoint to Oxbow Isle - the nearest Pact outpost - but nothing happens. Vriré can feel none of the ambient magic that the waypoint grid gives off. "That Alchemy-cursed Risen set up a disruption field!" she exclaims.

Warmaster Forgal frowns. "How close is Oxbow Isle?"

"Not far, but it's an island. Near the krait. The next closest is Gallant's Folly, a day away to the north."

"We only need to outdistance the disruption field," Forgal reminds her.

"I have no idea how Deception makes disruption fields. It might be tied to us - or some other, equally frustrating trick. But we may as well get moving away from the krait and toward an outpost where we can both get healed. That head injury of yours looks serious."

Forgal glances up the northern pathway. "There'll be Risen."

Vriré knows that. She also knows that she is useless in a fight, and the longer Forgal's injury remains untreated, the less and less effective he will be. "Then we'd better move quickly, Warmaster."

* * *

Tiffany inhales before she remembers that she is underwater, she shouldn't breathe - but then she realizes she isn't. She glances around, getting her bearings. She is in a room, but she can't tell much more than that except that it's made of wood. Likely a Pact outpost somewhere.

"She's awake, Ceera!" Tonn's voice calls happily from beside her, and a female asura hurries over from the other side of the tent.

_Wait, I'm not dead?_ Tiffany wonders, a smile tugging at her lips despite her confusion. _Thank the Dream._

"Lie still, Champion," she instructs briskly. "You'll be alright."

Tiffany grins. "Tonn, you never told me Ceera could do this. I thought I was dead!"

Tonn is wearing a massive smile. "Ceera can heal anything," he tells her, "but not death. You must not have been quite dead yet."

"I still owe you my life, Ceera," Tiffany says sincerely, suddenly realizing how ironic this whole thing is. In the game, Ceera had blamed her for Tonn's death - she'd even been in Auric Basin, still not speaking to her! - and now she is saving Tiffany's life. Tiffany shakes her head in amazement and bewilderment.

"It's what I do," Ceera tells her with the ghost of a smile. "Like I'm always telling Tonn, the best way to heal it is to know what's wrong with it. All you lacked was oxygen, and that's easy enough to pump into you."

Tiffany glances between the medic and the demolitionist with a small smile. "It seems like you both tell each other a lot of things. I've heard the phrase 'like I am always telling Ceera' more times than I can count, and it seems the same goes the other direction."

"We're interested in each other's lines of work," Ceera explains. "And good communication is vital to a healthy relationship."

Tiffany nods. "That makes sense. Oh, um, how long have I been out?"

"Three days," Tonn reports. "And I was going to say, you saved my life as well, so we're even." He smirks humorously at her.

Tiffany blinks at him. "Did I?" _Well, did I in any way you would know about?_

"Yes," Tonn replies. "I would have been dead twice over if you hadn't been there, first by the big bomb, then the floating one."

"But you were between me and the floating one when it exploded," Tiffany frowns.

Tonn shakes his head. "You might've been, but explosives are tricky. Us hitting it as hard as we did took a _lot_ of power out of it, which is why we both didn't die, and you actually took the brunt of that one. It exploded, but I was pressing into it, so the shell pushed me back a bit and didn't do much else. The shrapnel from the other sides exploded around me and into you, which is what broke your aquabreather."

Tiffany nods slowly - she can see what Tonn is saying. "That makes sense. Well, thank you very much, as well. I don't like the idea of dying."

"I don't think anyone does," Ceera tells her. "Now, you need to rest while your body finishes recuperating."

Tiffany nods. "Oh wait, one… no, two last questions. Did you ever figure out why it exploded when it wasn't supposed to, or why the light turned red?"

Tonn manages a sickly smile. "Turns out it exploded perfectly on time - the light turned green and Crusader Gilley hit the button. I did tell her to do that… but I hadn't counted on the built-in delay on the green-light indicator being broken. And I didn't have time to fix it."

Tiffany frowns. "Alright… and my other question, do you know where Fiona and my other friends are? Beorn thinks they should be here."

Ceera frowns. "They don't know you've been injured. Pact Champion Fiona is missing, and the other two Champions have been absent as well. Marshal Trahearne did stop by on the first day, but he is quite busy trying to locate PC Fiona."

"Fiona's missing?"

"I don't know the details - you'll have to talk to Marshal Trahearne about it - but she's been out of contact since we left," Tonn informs her.

"Huh. Okay, then. I'll do that." Other than Fiona, neither she nor Beorn are quite sure what to make of these unexpected absences. She had almost died, and most of her friends hadn't even noticed. She feels suddenly very lonely as Tonn and Ceera leave the tent so she can rest.

_And don't tell me that corpse was burned by the explosion. She'll be back. Looking more grotesque than ever._ Tiffany sighs. She doesn't really think of the Risen as her sister - it's just a broken mockery puppeteered by an Elder Dragon. It's an insult.

But fighting the abomination is another thing entirely, as it still has Deborah's face. At those times, Risen Deborah is her sister, trapped in Corruption, unable to stop fighting until Tiffany is dead. At those times, killing her is a mercy. At those times, Tiffany can think of nothing except her broken sister's plight, so similar to her own experience in the game. Unable to do a thing else while Trahearne had begged for death, because the game demanded it. At those times, Tiffany knows exactly what Deborah is going through, and only the burning rage at Zhaitan keeps her blade moving and her eyes dry.

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

I made more than a few tweaks to the Forgal and Vriré scenes in this chapter - most importantly the scene before this last one with Tiffany. The only-a-few-paragraphs-long one.

This chapter is kind of short. That's because my brain doesn't like me anymore. (It's punishing me for not getting enough sleep.) The next one will be longer, although it might also be a bit late. It's got a lot of fun stuff in it. Including one Forgal and Vriré scene that I decided to delay because I'm already an hour and a half late for getting to bed. (But it's completely new because I had to rewrite it for… super-complex reasons.)

Anyway. If you want to complain at me for any reason whatsoever - including how shamefully easy it was that Tiffany didn't die (false ~alarm~ cliffhanger, folks) - just send me a review or use the code HwKw8vy to join the Discord server.

No seriously. I love the criticism. It makes me better.

For the record, my Discord hasn't actually been working since I posted the last chapter, so Leon, if you were wondering, that's why I haven't answered your panicked messages about Tiffany's fate. (You… _did_ send panicked messages about Tiffany's fate, right?) But I will check on as soon as possible.


	13. Chapter 12: Healing (With)Out Magic

THE UNBROKEN

* * *

Dedication: Um… I'm feeling random today (what else is this section for?) so, shout-out to _Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs_, an animated film by… somebody. I'm fairly sure that's the one that said 'by a lot of people,' but that might've been the other awesome movie I saw recently. Anyway. It is a _dream_ in how compact the storyline is. You should all watch it because it's amazing. For the record, I'm the person who hasn't watched _any_ movies _ever_ that are current trendy things, and refuses to based on 'I'm busy.' So… also shout-out to Tangwen who got me to watch it! (She's the only one outside the family who can, haha. Looking at you, Leon. Sorry.

* * *

Chapter twelve: Healing (With)Out Magic

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

Okay so this chapter is fun! And I like it! And I haven't been saying how amazing my story is recently, so here it is!

It's significantly longer than usual, to make up for the next chapter being _slightly_ shorter than usual.

The chapter name is because I needed to name it something more than 'healing.' And there's healing with and without magic. So. But more with_out_ than _with_, so that's why 'with' is in parentheses instead of 'out.' But it deserved it. Hang on while I calculate the number of times 'healing' was said in this chapter. Okay! Fifteen. Plus a lot of conversation _about_ healing that doesn't necessarily mention the word. There's more Ceera in this chapter, so of course.

And um… more of that 'graphic violence' I warned about a few chapters back. It'll be marked off like before. As a warning, _most_ of the parts I'm marking off are not super important to the understanding of the plot, but _one_ of them is, a lot of chapters further on.

Occasionally I re-read something old I wrote and realize that maybe I didn't keep consistent with K+ as a rating even before these scenes (one thing in _Trinity Rising_ where Tiffany cuts open Inquest heads and kind of dwells on it for a moment? Like, what? Totally random?) and… I don't know where I was going with that.

_**Okay, here's the story now**_

* * *

Night falls before Forgal and Vriré reach Gallant's Folly, but they both press on through the night. Neither of them is in any condition to be sleeping in such hostile territory - there are Risen, as Forgal had said, and also Inquest, and the krait are undoubtedly on their tail.

It is dawn on the morning of the forty-first day of the Scion Season when they arrive at Gallant's Folly - tired, worn out, and with a few fresh injuries - and Forgal realizes that they will have to wait yet longer before setting out back to Fort Trinity. Healing, sleeping, and then actually getting to the Pact's headquarters - which houses a waypoint that neither of them had visited yet.

However, Forgal's spirits lift when he sees the entrance of the camp guarded by two Vigil.

"Who goes there?" the norn asks sharply.

"Pact Champion Forgal Kernsson," Forgal replies. The Pact title doesn't really fit him. He prefers Warmaster.

"Pact Champion Vriré," Vriré adds. "We're injured."

"Oh!" the norn says, letting them pass. "Warmaster Gurnn! We have injured allies!"

An asura hurries over to the two Champions. "What happened to you? The sun is barely up! Have you _slept?_"

"We just need healing," Forgal tells him firmly. "We need to get to Fort Trinity as soon as possible."

"Healing, eh?" Warmaster Gurnn turns and shouts, "Explorer Thoma! Get over here!"

A charr in Priory colors hurries over. "Yes, yes, come with me," she says, scanning the Champions quickly.

"How long - ?" Forgal asks.

"I'll have you patched up by midday, but Pact Champion Vriré - I'll need to keep her until tomorrow morning."

Forgal scowls at the delay, but follows the medic to the hospital tent.

* * *

The Flame charr waste no time in making Fiona feel abused and scorned. The day after her near-confrontation with Kadon - she'd lost track of the days exactly - she is crossing the camp on an errand when her feet are knocked out from under her. She looks up from the ground to see Clawburn striding away. _What did I do?_ she wonders, picking herself up and running her fingers over her previous injuries, making sure she's still alright. The marks on her face and limbs had mostly healed, and no longer pain her, and her back, while still not healed, doesn't bother her anymore. Her shoulder, though, is only slightly better, since she can't keep from using it to let it heal.

Sending an odd glance in Clawburn's direction, still wondering what had warranted that, she continues on her way. On her way back, a passing charr shoves her, ramming her injured shoulder into a wall. She stiffens, stubbornly biting down the cry of pain. She doesn't even recognize him.

The random hostilities continue for the rest of the day, until the sun is edging down toward the horizon, when Fiona finally asks Clawburn, her most recent assailant (again), what is going on. "I don't get it," she calls after him. "Do you have a plan, or are you just being nasty?"

Clawburn turns, scowling heavily. "We're not helpless, human," he snarls. "We have a plan for defeating the Allied Legions."

"Oh, you're on me for the thing about how you'd rather fight the Branded than your fellow charr," Fiona realizes. "I thought that was a _good_ thing? Interracial wars just weaken all of you."

Clawburn snorts. "Keep your puny nose out of our business. I'm not of a mind to take military advice from a mouse like you."

"Except for how the humans actually are good at war, and you could only defeat them with your fake gods," Fiona reminds him. Like the day before, a crowd is gathering to see what's up.

Clawburn lunges at her, and Fiona steps back. Maybe she'd gone too far. Clawburn seizes her shoulders, claws sinking in - Fiona squirms - and growls in her face. "The Flame Legion are not to be trifled with. I don't care about your human ancestors, and I don't care about you. Now get out of my sight before something bad happens." He releases her shoulders and sends her staggering backward.

Fiona stands there for a moment, considering whether to listen or to press her point. The Dream encourages her to go ahead, so she does. She touches the wound on her shoulder, and her finger comes away with blood on it. "Oh, look," she says, in apparent surprise. "You bloodied a human - not seriously injured, just bloody. I didn't expect such a level of competence from a Flame Centurion - why, my sister and a big golem shattered your Citadel, I'd have thought you'd at least be angry enough to _try_ to injure me."

A murmur goes up from the crowd that had formed around the debate; they hadn't known their prisoner had anything to do with the taking of the Citadel of Flame.

Clawburn advances on her, menacing, with his claws out. "Are you _asking_ for a fight, human?" he rumbles dangerously.

"Maybe?" Fiona replies, turning it into a question. She has no idea why the Dream wants her to antagonize Clawburn, but she goes on. "I mean, it depends on what you mean by 'fight,' I suppose. If you want a fight more your size, then sure - I'm sure you can best an unarmed human, and I'm sure you want some sort of thing you can claim to be victory, since you can claim nothing but defeat at the hands of the Allied Legions." ,,,,

Clawburn lunges at her, and Fiona drops to her knees and rolls under his feet, causing him to stumble. One of the nearby charr gasps, and Clawburn turns and slashes at him, too; the spectator shrinks away and avoids the blow, but Clawburn had made his point. He comes back toward Fiona, who realizes that she can't dodge and evade forever, especially with the crowd pressing in like this.

"Well, well, what have we here?" comes a silky voice, and the crowd parts to admit Syska into the ring. Syska glances around; Clawburn with his claws out and a murderous look on his face, Fiona bruised and her shoulder bloody, and the ring of spectators.

"I'm just telling Clawburn how screwed the Flame Legion is," Fiona says innocently. "The other Legions will find them eventually."

**CONTENT WARNING: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE**

"You've got more on your mind than that," Syska observes, striding over to her. "It's an _opinion_, my dear, and most people would have shut up by this point." She slashes Fiona across the face, but it doesn't hurt; Fiona sees more than feels the blood running down her face, and she blinks. Had Syska just used illusion to make an example of her? _What?_

But then Syska punches her in the gut, and Fiona falls to the ground with a cry of pain, gasping for breath. A distraction, then, for Fiona herself. The blood on her face disappears, and she can clearly see Syska looming over her.

Clawburn approaches and hauls her to her feet with a clawed paw, then punches her in the face, and she is on the ground again, with blood spurting from her nose. _Perfectly awesome. Now they're ganging up on me._ "Can't even punch me properly without a female leading the way, huh?" she manages, as Syska backs off.

Roaring, Clawburn turns on Syska.

"I said I wanted her miserable," Syska points out. "You seemed hesitant. Go on, beat her up. I like watching her scream."

Terror grips Fiona, but she forces herself not to curl into a ball again. _It'll be alright,_ she reminds herself. _The Dream is here._ But her insides are squirming, and Fiona feels lightheaded with fear. She squeezes her eyes closed and forces a few breaths through her system. Then, she braces herself, and slowly gets to her feet. She stands there, frozen in fear, as Clawburn advances again. She feels sick. She's just going to stand here, to let him beat her up; there's nothing she can do, she'd surely gone too far.

The Dream will protect her; but this is obviously part of its plan, unless something happens in the next few seconds. How does getting beat up help anything?

Clawburn pins her arms to her sides and roars in her face. She nearly faints, blood pounding in her head and the desire to shrink away nearly overwhelming. She wants to cry, to scream, to howl for the pain she knows is coming; _come on just do it already,_ she pleads, _stop the waiting and taunting, please, just do it already…_

It's inevitable, she realizes, either he'll hit or scratch her or he won't. The fear ebbs away, replaced with a sure confidence. Oh, her heart is pounding a million miles an hour in her chest; her breathing is quick and shallow; but she isn't really afraid anymore. The fear isn't all-encompassing. It's _knowledge_, not emotion.

A huge paw impacts her face, claws digging in at five points, and she stiffens; but it was more for the impact and less for the blood. She opens an eye, and sees Clawburn's monstrous face looming in her view. "You were scratching me earlier," she observes, her voice somehow rock-steady. "Syska told you to beat me up. Are you a coward?" _What the freak am I doing,_ Fiona wonders. _Taunting him even __more__?_

"I don't take orders from females," Clawburn sneers, and Fiona feels - of all things! - disappointment.

"I think you're a coward," Fiona replies matter-of-factly. "What Flame charr wouldn't want to beat up a vulnerable human? I mean, it's gotta be the funnest thing around. You're not following orders; you're just doing precisely as you please. You haven't got anything else to beat up, and I'm a disposable prisoner." _Why am I asking him to beat me up? Tiffany's gonna faint when she hears about this._ She nearly grins at the thought. _Hey, Tiffany, I was __captured__ by the Flame Legion, and I __asked__ them to beat me up when they were hesitating - yes, they were hesitating, I can't __believe__ I had to ask them._ "You're still hesitating," Fiona drawls. "Come on, all that anger, all that rage, and you're just gonna back down because you might be following the orders of a female? She doesn't matter. Ignore her."

Clawburn pushes her back. "I don't think so," he snarls. "I'll do it when I feel like it."

"Coward, no wonder you're losing to the other Legions," Fiona shouts. "You can't even properly beat up a mouse like me!" Clawburn pauses, his back to her, tail quivering, and Fiona goes on, "all your troops are watching here, do you want them to think you're incapable of leading them to victory?"

Clawburn hesitates, then says plainly, "I don't want to. I don't feel like it. You want me to prove I'm not a coward? Fine." He turns to her and seizes her uninjured shoulder, spins her around, and rakes both sets of claws down her back, before shoving her face-first into the ground and walking away.

Her back is on fire. Fiona, stiff and tense when Clawburn had drawn his claws down her back, doesn't move, her muscles clenched and tight. Her back is on fire. It must be. She isn't bleeding, and the pain, _oh the pain_ \- she wants to squirm, she wants to convulse and scratch at where the claw marks are, but she can't move, she's frozen, stiff as a board in the dirt, her back is on fire -

Someone grabs her hand and pulls her out of the dirt. Fiona's muscles unclench and blood sprays out of her wounds into the face of whoever had touched her. She squirms at the feeling - it would have tickled if it didn't hurt so much - like when her foot has fallen asleep.

**END OF CONTENT WARNING**

The person turns her around, supporting her weight when she nearly falls down, and Fiona sees that it is Syska. The disguised charr - Fiona can't sense the illusion without her foci, but she knows it's there - growls, but it's a pleased growl. For the first time, Fiona feels shame. Syska had captured her and dragged her here, but Fiona had never felt so vulnerable, wounded, and helpless in the face of such an enemy.

"I could do _nothing_," Syska whispers to her. "I could stay here and torment you for weeks. I could leave the Pact alone."

Fiona clenches her jaw to keep her emotions from showing on her face. She doesn't care if she's vulnerable, injured, hurt. _Please. Just stay away from the Pact._

Syska - not surprisingly - guesses Fiona's thoughts anyway. "It would still fall," she whispers. "I have the key to their success. So long as it is in my possession, the Pact is doomed."

"I don't believe you," Fiona replies, but her heart is beating quickly. _What could such a powerful mesmer do if she __wasn't__ tied down making the Pact vulnerable?_ She reminds herself that Tiffany had never mentioned any such key, beyond Trahearne himself, as being vital to the success of the Pact. _Stay here._ Staying has to be better than both having this 'key' _and_ causing the miscommunications.

"We'll see about that," Syska sneers, releasing her. Fiona tries to catch herself, but she slips and falls to the ground. As Syska strides away, Fiona tries to stand, but she feels weak and dizzy. _I've lost too much blood or something, haven't I?_

An odd silence falls in Syska's wake as the female passes through the group of charr. Clawburn roars for everyone to get back to their work, and Grania is called to bring Fiona back to her cell.

As Fiona staggers along the passage, Grania whispers almost inaudible words of comfort. But she still locks the cell and takes the keys away, glancing back with an agonizing 'sorry' as she leaves.

* * *

Beorn is gone. Tiffany freezes, staring at the ceiling. The link is empty - full of nothingness. She sits bolt upright in her bed, and shouts his name into the blank fog, but nothing comes back, not even an echo. Tiffany presses her shaking hands together as her eyes dart around the empty room. She tries to think through what could have happened to him; he was with her when she woke up yesterday - had there been an attack here? Had he been killed?!

No, no - that feels wrong. But what else - ?

Then she remembers what Forgal had told her, about the link disappearing completely when a companion dies. She catches her breath and tries to calm down. The link just being empty is only a side effect of being too far away to sense each other.

All the same, she'll be much relieved to have him back by her side. The empty link unnerves her greatly.

Ceera comes in to check on her.

"Where's Beorn?" Tiffany asks immediately.

"He's with Tonn. They went to Fort Trinity so the waypoint could be communicated through the bond."

"Oh." Tiffany blinks. "That's smart."

Ceera smiles at her. "It seems we both have smart partners. Now, lie down, your bones aren't healed yet."

Tiffany complies while Ceera checks her over. "Tonn told me to tell you how you were rescued, which I'm afraid is a second-hand account, as I was only there for the later part. Your bear apparently did his best to scare the wits out of the two Crusaders you had with you, and then disappeared into the water. After a minute of you and Tonn not showing up, they decided maybe Beorn had had the right idea, and went after you. Chased off the Risen and brought you to a tiny, six-man, Whispers-only outpost that was nearby, and then Tonn called me in while doing CPR." She glances at Tiffany questioningly.

"I know what CPR is," Tiffany confirms with a nod. "Rescue breaths and chest compressions, right?"

"Yes, exactly. Usually, if there's a properly-trained medic on hand, there's also a magical component - prevent bones from breaking, prevent physical trauma, stimulate your nervous system - all that sort of thing. But it's hard to learn." Ceera crosses to the other end of the tent and investigates a chest on the ground, presumably full of supplies. Tiffany can't see at this angle. Ceera goes on, "I'm half-surprised Tonn dared try on you - he's never been very confident about his healing ability. But then, emergencies are emergencies, and I doubt you'd have survived otherwise. Immediate response is the highest factor that determines whether a victim of drowning survives or not, you know."

Tiffany nods. "So how did I get here? And where is here?"

"Firebreak Fort." Ceera returns to Tiffany's bedside. "One of the agents at the outpost taught Beorn how to side-along you to a waypoint you both knew. Apparently it needs the sylvari Dream to make it work, although I'd never noticed that particular commonality among all those I know who've done it, and you're certainly no sylvari." The question is evident in the asura's voice.

"I'm…" Tiffany hesitates, then suppresses a smile. "Technically I'm not, but Beorn and I do have a connection with the Dream. It's complicated." _Oh, Fiona would scream in exasperation if she heard that I dislike saying I'm not actually a sylvari. I'll keep what little claim I have intact, thanks, Fi._

"Ah, complicated things. I think that's part of why me and Tonn like each other. He's developed his own explosives, and I've always been a teacher - complicated stuff, you know, it's not all curriculums - and now I'm a medic. And we both enjoy listening to the other natter on about details we can't understand half the time. And answering questions the other half. Tonn insists I know how his hand grenades work if I'm to use them. I probably never will - being a field medic is dangerous, but there tend to always be allied soldiers nearby to do the fighting - but I learned the details anyway. More because then I can appreciate his achievements better - how many people do you know that invented their own explosives! - and empty appreciation is empty."

Tiffany has a smile on her face as she listens to Ceera talk about Tonn. She is now doubly glad she prevented Tonn from dying. Not having Ceera mad at her is a bonus, but she is mostly glad for Ceera, who hadn't lost her husband this time. In the game, Tiffany had never had the chance to see what Ceera was like when she wasn't grieving or nursing years-old hatred, and Ceera is… a lot like Tonn, actually. But different. And happy, and cheerful, and a delight to talk to. It makes almost dying worth it, since Tiffany knows how gravely Tonn's death would have transformed this joyful asura.

"I've assessed the extent that you still need to be healed," Ceera says, interrupting Tiffany's thoughts. "I'm going to put you to sleep now so I can work on your bones. You should be fully healed by tomorrow, though."

Tiffany nods readily, although she does realize that she hadn't had a chance to think about the fact that she'd almost died. Oh well - there will be time enough for that later.

* * *

Forgal is dismissed from Explorer Thoma's care with the assurance that he is fully healed. He leaves the medical tent and glances around to get his bearings. It is mid-afternoon, and two Vigil are sparring with each other.

"Krait incoming!" comes a shout from a lookout.

_Oh __Spirits__, not again!_ Forgal draws his blade and heads toward the entrance with a grumble. What had taken them so long, anyway? _They__ probably got a proper night's sleep._

Forgal cuts off the head of the first krait that enters the outpost, and the Vigil sentries quickly join him in attacking the serpentine slavers.

The krait leader shrieks. "Find the orb! No matter the cost!"

"It's not _here_, you fools," Forgal mutters under his breath, blocking an attack and retaliating in kind. But the krait keep coming.

"Let's hope the krait don't have a way to get the local wildlife on their side," Warmaster Gurnn yells. "Defeat them quickly!"

Forgal fights his way to where the leader is commanding, ordering her troops with vicious threats at the defenders and her own soldiers alike.

The krait leader throws an energy-draining magical probe at him, but Forgal powers through it and slashes at the magician. It darts forward and around him, conjuring puddles of poison. Forgal stumbles out of the one he had ended up standing in, a moment before the krait retreat back the way it had come. It retreats back further, then creates a green cloud of more poison and sends it toward him.

Forgal dodges the cloud and attacks the krait again, this time managing to land a telling blow. The krait falls back with an uncanny shriek, and Forgal presses the attack, charging forward and ignoring or dodging the next few energy probes.

Behind him, he hears a hiss, and spins around in time to block a strike from a sword-wielding krait. A pool of poison bubbles up under his feet, and Forgal grits his teeth as weakness seeps into his legs. The krait draws back for a brief moment, and when it steps forward again, Forgal steps back, then lunges. He manages to kill it, but not before it gives him a severe leg injury.

Forgal limps over to the krait leader - still conjuring various ways of poisoning him - and, battling through the fog in his brain, manages to kill the krait - who had had little defense once he got up close - with a sword to the head. Forgal breathes heavily for a moment, then turns toward the main battle; but the other soldiers in the camp had done their job well, and only a few krait remain.

He staggers into the outpost proper, avoiding the remaining poison puddles.

"Warmaster! Are you alright?" one sylvari asks worriedly.

"No," Forgal growls. "Where is Explorer Thoma?

* * *

Vriré stares at Forgal as he is brought in again. "You can't stop getting injured, can you," she observes, shaking her head.

Forgal raises his eyebrows at her, but says nothing.

"At least you've stopped babbling about nonsense," Vriré huffs, partially in an attempt to get a rise out of him. She realizes that she'd slightly missed his sharp retorts from when she'd first met him.

"Oh, I'm fairly sure I can if I want to," Forgal tells her. "_My_ injuries aren't bad enough to be put under anesthetic."

"Ouch," Vriré deadpans. "That really stings my pride, Warmaster. How dare you imply I am incapable in a fight?"

Forgal says nothing and returns his attention to Explorer Thoma, who is puttering around looking for some medical device. "Explorer, how soon until we're both healed?"

Vriré frowns slightly in confusion and frustration. How in Tyria could _that_ have caused any offense? What a prickly ally to have. _Well, if you're going to be like that, we don't have to converse._

"By dawn tomorrow, Champions," Explorer Thoma replies.

Vriré's eyes shift as she calculates. If they waypoint to Firebreak Fort and walk the rest of the way, they'll be at Fort Trinity on the forty-second. More than a week since Fiona's capture.

Vriré really hopes that Fiona is alright. And will remain alright until she can be rescued.

* * *

Fiona can't lie on her back, as scratched up as it is; her shoulder protests when she tries to lean against the wall. She finally finds herself as close to comfortable as she can get by lying on her stomach.

So, lying there, trying not to move, Fiona wonders anxiously about this key that Syska had mentioned. She had said that the Pact was doomed as long as she had it, so it isn't the act of Syska having the key, it is the fact of the Pact _not_ having it. _She would have said if it was a person, just to make me more miserable. But the Pact is a spirit, not a fact, so what mere item could spell the Pact's doom?_

Fiona reminds herself that she needs to stop worrying about it; that's not her job right now. She thinks at the Dream; _why? I did as you asked; taunted and sneered and pushed their buttons - for what? Why am I here?_

There is no answer; and after a minute, Fiona wonders if there won't be an answer. _But,_ she reminds herself, _there is always an answer, even if it is a 'no' or a 'not yet.'_ So she waits.

A voice speaks up suddenly. "Are you alright, Kitten?"

Fiona flinches in surprise. "Eda! You need to not sneak up on me like that," Fiona exclaims. "And I'm fine."

"But you have blood all over you!" Eda worries, wringing her paws. "Who did it? And why didn't you die?"

Fiona smiles weakly at the cub's innocence. "It's okay," she repeats. "I'll heal up. It wasn't bad enough to die."

This calms her down a little, and Eda frowns. "But why not? You're supposed to die. Prisoners are supposed to be dead."

Fiona frowns. She has a good point. "I don't really know. Maybe they didn't feel like doing it right that minute?"

"Maybe. They're just mean," Eda complains. "Mother makes me stay inside all the time and it's boring. And you're mostly sleeping any more."

"Who is your mother?" Fiona asks curiously.

"Oh, she's the bestest female ever!" Eda declares. "I would rather follow her than Asprena, even if she is in charge."

"Yeah," Fiona replies with a smile. "Mothers are like that." Eda hadn't really answered her question, but it might be a bit beyond her, especially if she'd been in the fahrar until recently.

"But you're still bleeding," Eda points out. "Stay on subject. Bleeding is not good, because one day you'll run out of blood and that's bad, because you need oxygen in your brain and blood is important for getting it there. Do you have any ideas on getting it to stop?"

Fiona shakes her head at the cub's extensive knowledge. "I don't, actually, unless you have healing magic. Actually wait, _I_ have healing magic." She sits up, frowns in concentration, and carefully draws out Protection, forming the little barrier around her finger.

"Ooohhh, that's pretty," Eda breathes. "Let me see!"

Fiona pokes her finger through the bars of the cell, and Eda pokes at the shield in awe. She runs her claw around the edge of it, and Fiona pushes a little more power to make it bigger.

"That is the funnest thing I ever saw in my life," Eda whispers. "What is it?"

"Healing magic," Fiona replies. "This is all I can do with it, and I don't know how to make it heal, but it's fun to look at, right?"

"Lots," Eda answers, enraptured.

The door creaks open, and Eda and Fiona both look toward the door. The shield winks out.

It's Calera, the female that had sent Fiona out that first day she tried to escape.

"Eda, I told you not to come down here," Calera says sternly.

"But she was bleeding!" Eda reminds her. "See?"

"I do see," Calera replies. "But I told you not to come, and so you should listen."

"Yes, Mother," Eda says quietly.

"This is your mother?" Fiona asks curiously. "I've heard a lot about you," she says to Calera.

"And I have heard a lot about the human she calls Kitten."

Fiona suppresses a smile. "Yes. She's adorable."

"What does that mean?" Eda asks.

Fiona frowns. "Cute?" she offers.

"Oh, that," Eda sniffs. "Cute is for kitten. I'm a big cub."

"So _I'm_ cute?" Fiona asks, pretending to be offended.

Eda looks at her calculatingly. "Nah. You're too big and you don't have fur."

"Alright Eda, it's time to head back to bed," Calera tells her.

"Alright. Bye Kitten." Eda heads back up the stairs.

Calera, on the other hand, stares at Fiona for a long time.

Fiona just returns the gaze, wondering if she had come on purpose and Eda being here was something else.

"Why did you fight the males with words?" the charr asks eventually. "You already knew that they would hurt you."

Fiona closes her eyes for a moment, wondering how to reply. Eventually, she picks the simplest answer; "my God told me to."

Calera raises her eyebrows in surprise. "I did not know the humans' gods told them to accept meaningless violence."

Fiona starts to shake her head, then winces. "No, not one of the Six. They're fake. The real God is here to fight the Elder Dragons and depose the fakes, and set up a system that is more just." _Well now, possibly one of the most insane-sounding things I could've said, from her perspective._

"While I'm all for believing that the Six are fakes, your God sounds rather stupid to me - killing the dragons is impossible. Why would you listen to him?"

"You might not trust or believe him, but I do."

Calera huffs. "Alright then. I still think you're being stupid, but at least somebody's standing up to the males. And _Syska._"

_Well, at least somebody can tell that Syska is bad news._ "What are you here for? Just to ask me why?"

Calera is silent for a moment. "Yes," she says at last. "And, if your God person _is_ trying to fight the dragons… why is he leaving you here?"

Fiona debates whether to tell Calera that Syska is a Risen in disguise, but the Dream cautions her against it yet again. Other than that clue… "I honestly have no idea," she admits. "But hey, I'm still alive, aren't I?"

Calera nods reluctantly. "But why are you accepting the males' treatment? You have no… role to play. You are just a prisoner. I will tell you now that you will not find death by antagonizing them, unless they give you your weapons and face you in a fair fight."

Fiona pauses. "I am not accepting it. I am… demanding it."

Calera… smiles, or at least what looks like a smile on a charr. Fiona isn't quite sure. "Ahh, I see. You control them, not the other way around."

"To some extent. If I did not wish to be harmed I would act like Asprena, and cower and say 'yes sir' and do whatever was asked of me without so much as a peep of complaint." Fiona frowns. "But then they might still fight me, and I would have lost any modicum of control that I have. I don't like that idea by itself. But really I'm doing it because the Dream - my God - is telling me to. I don't know why yet."

Calera blinks at her in surprise. "You don't know why?" she repeats in disbelief. "What could possess you to listen to somebody that doesn't tell you why you're being tortured?"

Fiona pauses, looking for a suitable answer. "Loyalty," she says finally. "The Dream has always looked out for me… and Syska was my enemy long before I knew who she was and tried to kill her. Keeping her here, poking at me and trying to hurt me - she's not hurting my friends."

Calera just stares at her and does not reply for a long while.

After an indeterminate amount of time, as Calera is just turning to walk away, Fiona asks slowly, "do you know Grania?"

"Yes. All females know each other."

"I don't think she wants to listen to the males. Why does she?"

"Oh," Calera says, sounding contemptuous, "It is not that she doesn't want to listen to them. She listens to them like her life depends on it. It's what she is told to do that she dislikes, when the mood strikes her. But she does it anyway out of fear and cowardliness. Asprena at least does so because she likes the system that puts her in charge of the other females, and she adheres to tradition. But Grania doesn't have the spine to do anything but the letter of what she is told. I'm just surprised she likes you enough to show that she'd rather not."

Fiona blinks. _So the encouragement, the 'sorry' - that's really quite brave, from her perspective._ "What about you? Why do you listen? Are you the same person that visited me the other night?"

Calera nods. "Yes. I behave because it amuses me to let the males think they control me. And because female society is different from the males' organization. I'm content enough here."

"Is that why the others were all snippy with me? Female society?"

Calera hesitates. "To some extent," she says finally. "Asprena antagonizes you to get on the males' good side. Grania wishes you well, but does not have the spine for showing it. I see you as… beneath my notice. You and how the other females react to you and the discussion of such are a passing phase. I am not interested in such distractions. It is a small part of why I am respected."

"And yet you still come to talk to me. And you gave permission for Eda to come talk the one time."

"Eda is bored here. And I came only because of my own personal curiosity. The others are curious as well, and so I shall tell them your answers, but I came on my own decision. That is the real reason they respect me. If I ever determined to do so, I could sneak out as you did the other day, and move faster. I have claws and teeth. I could find the Allied Legions and find refuge, and learn to fight. I am _independent._ But _I_ decide to stay, and so I do. But I come to talk to you because I wish to."

"Well, at least you're honest," Fiona replies. "I like that about a person."

As Calera leaves the dungeon, Fiona wonders if that had been intended to be her answer. _I'm showing the male Flame charr that even a female can be powerful… and I'm showing the females that they don't need to lie down and take it._ She doesn't know where that will lead, but it's a start. It makes sense, and if the Dream has a plan concerning the Flame Legion and the females, she is proud to be a part of it.

As she drifts off to sleep - something she would have thought to be impossible, given her uncomfortable position and her wounds - Fiona wonders if, since the Dream is now actively waging war on Satan, the devil would have told the dragons. And if the dragons had told their champions and lieutenants.

* * *

Identification is lost. She can't even remember her own name, much less the names of the living. She _should_, though. She should know their names. And her own. Her own is less important, now - she's different, changed. Somehow. Her name might no longer fit her.

But she can remember - barely - when it did. When she knew all the names. She knows the people, but not the names.

The people are her target. Some of them. She peers around a tree - there are many trees, with apples. And spiders. It is so beautiful - unlike herself. She is separate, distant. No longer a part of the world. She peers around the tree. Her targets are there, with an older lady, who should not be there.

She is not to claim them. Her task is to take them. They will not be severed from the world as she is. But there is another - whose name she once knew - that is not here. So she waits. Watching, as the children play with notched wooden sticks. Listening, as they discuss the 'Grandpa Logs.' Feeling, as emotion stirs in her. Dull and muted, but emotion still. She is separate from the world, and she is different even from the others that have been claimed.

She wants to know the names. None of the other claimed care. She is… relieved, in a way, that she will not be claiming them. The other claimed blindly seek the opposite. But she is important enough that she had reached the light. Darkness surrounds her. She follows her task doggedly, yearning for the time before she was claimed, when light and… _moreness_ had surrounded her. More than the moment and the task. She had found the light, twice now, but she is important enough that she is always dragged back into the darkness. The other claimed find the light, and… rest.

But now, all that surrounds her is darkness and her task. The children. The one not yet come. The older one that needs to leave.

After a time - unknowable time - the children take their leave of the older lady.

The moment draws near. She circles around the trees so the older one does not see her. She shadows the children as they walk along the river. The river, with drakes on the surface and fish in the depths, and sunlight reflecting off the water. She is darkness in a beautiful world of light. Darkness and her task.

One of the children - the targets of her task, _oh, misery_, the children! Something like regret pulls her heart - her heart in tattered shreds, incapable of true emotion. One of the children points and shouts, the word on his lips. "Mommy!" he shouts, and his voice his heard as if from down a tunnel. Her task is at hand.

She darts forward, running swiftly - for an instant she feels alight, leaping over the grass, but she is only a shadow - and draws her blade. _Her_ blade, but she feels distant from it as well. She is different. It had been hers before, but she is different now. She draws the blade and stands against the last one to arrive.

_Mommy_ he had called her. That is a name, of sorts.

She stands against Mommy, her eyes blazing. The children scream. Mommy shrieks. There is emotion in those voices. Her heart cannot recognize them. She turns to the children, sheathes the blade, and grabs their hands. She turns and runs, south, anywhere to get away.

"No! No!" Mommy cries behind them.

What wouldn't she give to have a name. She runs all the harder, sparing only one glance over her shoulder. Mommy is chasing. The older lady - who must have heard the screams - is with her.

They will have to be dealt with. Not claimed. She pushes the children to the ground. "Stay," she snarls - and her voice is different, too, but all of her is - and turns toward Mommy and the lady. She draws her sword and faces the old lady. _She_ can be claimed. She is not relevant to the task.

Quickly she kills the old lady, then turns to Mommy, who has not moved since the lady fell. Mommy does not even run, but stands there staring. There is emotion in that, too. She stares back. She cannot leave the children. They are her task.

Emotion is part of the light. It does not exist in darkness. The old lady stirs from her place, skin grey, eyes blank.

Her own task is to take the children. The lady has been claimed, and will deal with Mommy. Mommy shrieks again, her voice rising into a high-pitched wail as the claimed lady approaches.

She does not like claiming the living. Dragging them into darkness, doomed to forever seek the light. Turning, she runs back to the small ones and takes their hands - so small, so weak, but full of light. They have never seen the darkness. Until now. Except…

She takes their hands and runs, south. She glances back - the claimed lady is keeping Mommy away.

She thinks of shouting a warning not to claim Mommy, but decides better of it.

The claimed always follow Zhaitan's command.

* * *

At dawn on the forty-second day of the Scion Season, Vriré and Forgal, both fully healed, waypoint from Gallant's Folly to Firebreak Fort, and set out southward. Just the two of them, they traverse the land much faster than the main body of the Pact had.

The journey is made in silence. Forgal does not seem inclined to speak, and Vriré remains silent herself. She can't comprehend the Warmaster. One minute he's trading verbal barbs with her, the next, he's coldly silent.

No matter why the difference, the fact remains that the difference is there, and something causes it. Vriré thinks she knows Forgal rather well. She has all of his information from his file. More importantly, she'd met him and been his partner for the last week, and she'd seen different aspects of him. In battle, a powerful warrior, one who is nevertheless cautious and intelligent. And at other times, with his determination to rescue the captives, his unwillingness to tolerate Sayeh, and his completely-at-odds decision to be the warrior to fight alone. His subsequent failure to blame Vriré for getting Apatia captured.

And yet he is still as grumpy and irritable at her as ever.

Vriré looks at the sun, and estimates when they will arrive at Fort Trinity. Maybe at about noon. Then they have to talk to Trahearne about Crusader Apatia, the Risen mesmer, the orb, and Fiona's capture.

Fiona's situation is getting worse by the moment. Crusader Apatia's had probably ended already.

* * *

Tiffany wakes up to find that Beorn still hasn't returned. But she feels good as new - well, a bit stiff from having been lying down for three days - and Ceera says goodbye and disappears off to Fort Trinity in a puff of blue with a cheerful wave. Beorn will be along soon to communicate the waypoint to Tiffany, but for now, Tiffany gets to wander around Firebreak Fort and think about the things she hadn't got a chance to think about earlier.

Tiffany finds a place to sit near the waypoint, and stares at the swirling blue magic inside the iron-wrought sigil. Almost dying had _disturbed_ her, and not in the way she would have expected. She'd almost died before. No, this was because of how random and uncontrolled it had been. How helpless she was to stop it. In battle, there is always something to do about it. Not this time. It feels slightly surreal. Because of an event entirely out of her control, _she_ could have died.

Just like all the other people she has spent her time in Tyria trying to protect. It is… an odd dose of reality for her. She is not immune, or immortal. Tiffany Tassof is just another, imperfect human being trying desperately to hold her world together. She does not know why this bothers her so much.

She'd been comparing herself to the Commander too much. Just because she fills the role of the Commander does not mean she is a player-character, immune to death and shackled to the storyline. _Nothing is certain, least of all the lives of those fighting an unfightable war. Or the lives of those who don't, for that matter._

Tiffany feels like she needs to do something about this new revelation. _Why? Nothing's really changed. I won't stop trying my hardest. I'm almost out of future knowledge as it pertains to the Pact in Orr - I hadn't finished replaying this to refresh my memory before we came here for real._ And it had been six months. She remembers writing down what she did remember some while back, but those notes are still at home. _There'll be asura gates at Fort Trinity, I can go back and get them then._

Tiffany had always been bad at planning things. _'Just go with Tonn and he won't die, it'll all be fine!' Ha._ She'll talk to Trahearne about his plan for the offensive on Orr, and get her notes, and see how much they line up, and then see what the next disaster she has to avert is. And then wing it, because she is going to have to get used to doing that again anyway. _Unless I can predict new things that'll go wrong from the information I have…? Nah, at that point I just tell people._

Tiffany still feels like there are some things undecided, but she can resolve those when she gets to Fort Trinity.

The waypoint flashes and sends out an expanding ring of blue, and Beorn appears underneath it, the link springing to life in Tiffany's mind. She greets him mentally by sending the sense for the two of them, combined, and he returns it. Then he sends the waypoint.

It comes as Beorn's feelings about Fort Trinity, in the abstract - freedom, a unified sense of alliance, a goal. But it is augmented slightly by a discordant feeling of unrest. A relatively superficial division in the Pact, but significant. Beorn had already known what the Pact's spirit is and what Fort Trinity represents, and he had enjoyed seeing Fort Trinity for the first time, but the Orders are still divided.

"Will that be enough to get to the waypoint?" Tiffany asks. "I've never used emotions to get there before."

A confused jumble of emotions comes through the link, before Beorn just sends affirmation to her. That, Tiffany decides, means _just trust me_. So she closes her eyes and focuses on the emotions he had given her and the vague, half-formed images of Fort Trinity that she can recall. Then she pictures a waypoint. She can feel air moving against her skin, but _she_ isn't moving. She hurtles through nothingness in a split second toward a waypoint, but not exactly - she misses it. Air is spinning around her confusedly, but at last the waypoint catches her and she materializes in Fort Trinity, facing west.

Tiffany grins - she recognizes this place. It _feels_ like Fort Trinity. Tiffany could have danced. Fort Trinity is her third home, with the Vigil Keep being the second and the tavern in Divinity's Reach being the first. Tiffany almost laughs at herself - she keeps track of the weirdest things.

So she sets out to explore Fort Trinity, to refresh her memory. It is almost exactly how she remembers it - how could something as dynamic as the set-up of a fort stay the same through all the changes she'd made? How could Sieran do the same thing as whoever had repaired it in the game (because it certainly wasn't Sieran, then)?

Speaking of Sieran… "Pact Champion Tiffany!" the cheerful sylvari exclaims, her constant happiness infecting Tiffany through the Dream. Tiffany is happy to see another sylvari after so long working without them. "I'm glad to see that you're alright. Morale will be better here now that there's a Pact Champion around!"

Tiffany frowns at her. "But _you_ are a Pact Champion," she reminds the sylvari.

"Well, yes," Sieran agrees hesitantly, and Tiffany frowns. "But I'm not… I mean, you and Fiona… I haven't been around as much," she explains. Tiffany gets the feeling she's hiding something, but the Dream won't tell her. "I've been here, repairing Fort Trinity, and the rest of you have been… well, doing more Champion-type things."

Tiffany wonders how getting the Pact's headquarters in usable condition is not a Champion-type thing. "Um, okay," she notes, drawing out the _a_ and making it sound more like a question. 'Champion-type things' like almost dying, or Fiona's problems in the communications department?

Tiffany frowns as she realizes that she really hasn't gotten to see much of Fiona recently - even before they were all sent off on different missions - as they've both been busy. There is no sign of this letting up anytime soon - with Fiona in charge of communications and Tiffany in charge of putting these bits of information into practice, their jobs won't cease just because the Pact has arrived at Fort Trinity.

Now that the Pact _has_ arrived at Fort Trinity, Tiffany - quite aside from not having much future knowledge anymore - doesn't know what is coming next. All the other quests had somehow all fed into each other; what now? Is she going to retain her current role as a Pact Champion? _My rank might be 'Pact Champion,' but my role is more that of a Warmaster._

Tiffany does not want to remain a Warmaster. Warmaster confines her to the Vigil; she wants to be a part of the Pact. Shaking her head, Tiffany returns to the conversation at hand, again sighing at the fact that she doesn't know what's next. Ever since she'd come to Tyria, her goal had been forming the Pact and getting it to Fort Trinity; now what? "What is the Pact doing right now?" she asks Sieran. "I've been a bit out of the loop for the last few days."

"We're just settling in to Fort Trinity," Sieran tells her. "I can show you around, if you like?"

"Yes, thank you," Tiffany agrees. While she may recognize the fort by its design and style, she is completely lost at navigating it. And it would also not do to show too much of a familiarity with the design, having supposedly never been here before.

Sieran guides Tiffany through the Pact's headquarters - and it really is quite simple. There are three main sections - the center of the fort; the docking area, called Armada Harbor; and the area above the submarine dock, which leads to Caer Aval, the main meeting-room for the higher-ups in the chain of command. There are two land entrances - one to the southeast, and one to the north. There are also the asura gates that have just reached completion, which are to the north of the southeast exit, and have their own little nook that they can be locked within. The Alseta Generator provides magitechnical power - aka, magical electricity - to Fort Trinity.

The most ingenious piece of architecture, however, is the barracks. Fort Trinity is sitting on the edge of a cliff, though you would never know it unless you saw it - or thought hard enough. There is a gate between the center of the fort to Armada Harbor, which leads out on a balcony-like platform. The only way down is either jumping into the brambles at the base of it, or going down the ramp, which heads toward the northern entrance. The fact that the balcony is at the same altitude as the center of the fort, yet has to have an artificial ramp down to Armada Harbor, is telling.

The second point of reference is the fact that the center of the fort extends to the portion that is built over the top of the submarine dock. This is a magically-reinforced glass dome, looking quite a ways down to the water level where the submarine will dock when it gets here. The submarine dock has a little door behind it that leads into the cliff, atop which part of Fort Trinity is built. This door leads to the underground barracks of Fort Trinity, a whole level tucked unnoticed and out of sight from the main hustle and bustle of a military base. The Alseta Generator extends down here, as well, and easily keeps the place temperature-controlled.

Tiffany's respect for Tyrian technology goes up a bump. A rather large bump. There's air conditioning in Tyria? Who would ever have guessed!

"It's really nice down here," Sieran agrees when Tiffany tells her how awesome it is. "It was interesting, weaving magic into something and watching it stay even when I released the energy. And the strangest thing happened - Jinxxa said I was a genius for coming up with the idea!"

Tiffany feels Sieran's awe and gratitude toward this Jinxxa, but it is washed away by her own emotion - absolutely astonished. Air conditioning had _just_ been invented - specifically for the Pact - and _Sieran_ is the inventor? "Can you control it?" she asks interestedly. _Oh, and Sieran has the guts to imply she isn't really a Champion after this?_ Tiffany shakes her head in disbelief. Sieran is one strange cherry.

"Oh, anyone can control it if they know how," Sieran shrugs, "but knowing how is hard - you have to rearrange several vital parts of the Generator, but its easy if you're an asura. On the other hand, all I have to do is touch into the magic again - do you know how cherry it is, touching a magic I've already used and let go of, messing with already-existing magic rather than calling up my own? Anyway, all I have to do is reach out to it and I can control it as if I'd just created the weave."

"That is… brilliant," Tiffany notes in awe. "You are brilliant, Sieran!" How had Sieran - the absentminded, cherry adventurer that is only seven years old and likes digging around in ancient, primitive ruins - could come up with the idea for air conditioning, get the different Orders to work together to make something like this, _and_ do it in such an awesomely efficient manner so that the Pact has a barracks - which Tyrian strongholds seem to be in conspicuous lack of. Add in the fact that she turned an air conditioning unit into an electricity provider for the _rest_ of the fort, and the whole thing is nothing less than astounding to Tiffany.

"Oh, no," Sieran says, causing Tiffany to blink. "I had a crazy idea that turned out to be possible - crazy ideas are nothing new, you see, it was just luck that this one is actually possible. It was Scholar Granger and Whispers Creator Jinxxa that did the hard parts."

Tiffany sighs at the self-deprecating feeling coming from Sieran - she just doesn't seem to think of herself as a Pact Champion. _Tiffany_ would never have thought this up. Wait… Tiffany's lips twitch into a smile. Scholar Granger helped invent the air conditioning. _That is hilarious_, Tiffany decides, before thinking to wonder about why there is a person whose name is Granger in Tyria. "Who is Scholar Granger?" she asks.

"Oh, he's a charr engineer - he designed the motor parts, all magnetic fields and magical stimulation and automatic rotation and some other such things," Sieran tells her cheerfully. "It's the reason the Alseta Generator works so efficiently, he told me. Creator Jinxxa did the more asuran-type work that I can't make twigs nor petals of. Scholar Granger explains his part better."

After a while of admiring the Alseta Generator, the two leave the barracks - which had been named the Alseta Zone, because it is the area most influenced by the Alseta Generator - but are intercepted by yellow-maned charr.

"Risen are attacking Fort Trinity," he tells them. "North entrance!" He immediately runs off again.

Tiffany and Sieran hurry up from the submarine dock. A door opens and Trahearne, Forgal, and Vriré come out, weapons drawn. After a brief moment of surprise on Tiffany's part, she follows Trahearne out to where the Risen are.

But she gets the nagging feeling that Risen aren't supposed to be in Fort Trinity. Ever. For some reason. It makes no sense, but that's what it feels like. And at the same time, she can almost half-remember that they _did_ come, at one point in the game.

_Curse my fading memory. It'll result in disaster someday._

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

Also I apologize for the thing with the waypoints. _Twice._ The first one was when I was dead tired and trying to get the chapter out on time. The second one was a miscalculation in timing and dates that I couldn't fix with half the relevant chapters posted already. (I really do hate changing things I've already posted.) So… umm… I invented a thing. (This was foreshadowed in chapter fourteen of book one, when Tiffany side-alonged a newfound pet to the tavern. That was a joke and had no actual lore backup, though, so…) Also the side-alonging an unconscious companion by using the Dream… is _barely_ plausible, even in my mind. And my mind makes some pretty wacky things perfectly normal.

So. Just saying. If I'd known these things were going to come up, I'd have foreshadowed them, but… that's not how it happened.

For the _record_ \- a thing I learned very recently - _in the lore, the waypoints don't work from anywhere_. You have to stand under a waypoint to waypoint to another waypoint. That makes total absolute sense, I just didn't think of it and it's never actually _mentioned_ in-game (just… story NPCs walk into waypoints to teleport). But I can't very well change it now for the _Tassof Series_, so I'm not. (Like… remember the one thing where Forgal attacked Tiffany in _Reforging the Edge_? That relied on waypointing. Though Fiona could've just portaled, I guess… BUT ANYWAY, no, in the _Tassof Series_, people still waypoint from anywhere. (But it's _cheaper_ if you stand under a waypoint! I will do that. That's why nobody is complaining about waypointing all over Mount Maelstrom in this chapter. That… um. I'm just going to leave things that already happened alone. _The asura don't want you to know it's cheaper, so they never tell anyone. Except, you know, the Dynamics graduates who don't care, like Scholar Izza. And maybe Vriré because she did Dynamics for a little while before doing Statics. Or the other way around?_)


	14. Chapter 13: The Battle of Fort Trinity

THE UNBROKEN

* * *

Dedication: To Leon, for requesting this first scene, ages and ages ago. I stuck it in my notes somewhere and when the time came to write this chapter, I said, 'oh, I know! I'll stick Leon's scene in here!' so here it is.

* * *

Chapter thirteen: The Battle of Fort Trinity

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

Yes.

_**Okay, here's the story now:**_

* * *

"Leon!" calls a familiar voice. Leon turns to see Balryvr hurrying up. "Kalovsky just set off a sonic explosive on the docks," the dredge grumbles.

Leon sighs. "What was he supposed to be doing?"

"Operating cannon six."

Leon throws up his hands in frustration. "He's a _cannon operator_ now, how could he get bored enough to set off a bomb inside a military headquarters?!"

"I have no idea. Technically he was just working on his Sonic Boom device. Apparently," Balryvr adds sarcastically, "he anticipated his boredom this time. I'm not sure if the Sonic Boom malfunctioned or was accidentally activated, but…"

"…but in a military headquarters, that's criminal negligence either way," Leon finishes. "So what happened? Is Fort Trinity dockless now?"

"No, worse," Balryvr grimaces. "It's defenseless. Sonic Boom blew the electromagnetic coils. You know those are right by the binary transistors, so even the information stored is inaccessible until we repair them."

"Oh shit biscuits," Leon says, resisting the urge to facepalm. "How long will it take to fix?"

"Days," Balryvr tells him grimly. "And that was _all_ of the sonic weaponry. We hadn't got them spread out in proper defensive positions yet."

Leon groans. Responsibility is the hardest thing in the world. He'd rather be a super-spy or study sonic technology or something. "And they were on the docks _before_ that because that was the most likely place for the - "

"Risen!" comes a shout from the direction Balryvr had come from. "Risen incoming!"

"Really?" Leon exclaims in disbelief. "The _one_ time somebody finishes my sentence and I _don't_ like what it means?"

Balryvr rolls his eyes. "He _barely_ finished your sentence. Come on - we'll stand together," Balryvr tells him, readying his sonic rifle. "Let's fight."

The two Whispers Agents hurry toward the docks, but when they reach the railing of the overlooking platform, they realize that the Pact soldiers running to defend the fort are heading out of the north entrance, not toward the docks. Switching targets easily, the pair hurry out of the Pact's base to find a suitable vantage point.

Earlier, Leon had located the place he would shoot from if a battle happened in this spot - mostly because that place is very obvious. A cliff-hill, set back from the clearing in front of the gate, places him above the fighting, so he can aim and shoot easily. Leon beelines for this vantage point with Balryvr on his heels. Luckily, the Risen hadn't reached the area yet, and they have time to scramble up onto the outcropping.

Leon glances around, then, out of habit, erects his personal sound bubble to keep out the sounds of battle. He is a scholar and spy; he snipes from the sidelines. Being in the thick of battle had always unnerved him - plus, this way he can feel awesome. He and Balryvr had reworked his sonic rifle's capacities a bit, mostly to expand the recording memory and add a Deception-friendly bit of magic, centered around a tiny speaker.

Flipping the small switch that activates the Boomstick's new capabilities, Leon channels a tiny bit of Deception into the speaker. The switch had stimulated the memory bank to produce a particular audio recording that the rifle is now playing at inaudible levels - at least, inaudible for human, unaided ears. Leon's Deception carries this trace amount of noise to his ears and amplifies it.

It's like being part of a play; epic music in the background while the main character fights the baddies. Leon grins. Balryvr, who can feel the music without the Deception, rolls his eyes at him in mock annoyance.

And then the Risen come. Leon, kneeling on one knee, aims the Boomstick and fires, weaving his sound shield closer to him to keep out the boom of sonic exploding from the muzzle of the rifle. By his side, Balryvr fires in sync with him. Together, they take down Risen after Risen. Leon has a crazy grin on his face as he and his friend watch the backs of the melee Pact fighters.

"Hey," he notes to Balryvr, "most of the Pact Champions are here."

Balryvr nods. "Yes, and Marshal Trahearne is over there."

Leon glances over. "Oh, neat. He's an expert on Risen, you know."

"Is he?" Balryvr and the other dredge are woefully ignorant of most of what they call 'surface politics,' but Leon had been educating them. "That must be why they let him lead the Pact. He hasn't had any leadership experience before, though. Right?"

"Yeah, but he's doing a great job so far," Leon notes as he fires again. "Even if he turns out to be just taking advice from the leaders of the other Orders, his knowledge of Orr is unequaled. Just because a lot of that knowledge is in the Priory's archives doesn't mean anybody studies it the way he does - and he knows the lay of the land like no one else."

"He seems capable," Balryvr replies. "If he was one of the Orders' puppets, we'd be seeing more favoritism. As it is, all I think he's doing is taking advice and applying it one way or another."

Leon, only half listening, suddenly stops firing and gapes at the battle. The PCs are standing together - Tiffany, Forgal, Vriré and Sieran - and very literally _devastating_ the Risen around them. PCs Forgal and Vriré, and a bear - Tiffany's companion, right? - are fighting the Risen up close, keeping them away from the other two. PC Tiffany is shooting steadily with perfect aim, dropping Risen after Risen, and Magister Sieran is standing in the center of the circle wreaking havoc with Earth magic. Earth is mounding up and causing Risen to stumble, shards impale Risen brains and occasional boulders crush some of the walking corpses whole, all in a wide radius around her. Marshal Trahearne, rather than being in the center of the area dominated by the PCs, is to the side, being more effective on his own than any of the PCs alone would have been. Leon tries not to think about the necromancy involved in whatever he is doing - it gives him chills.

The Risen are flooding around the PCs, concentrating their attack most strongly around them and Marshal Trahearne. Leon can't believe his eyes - the very aptly-named Pact Champions are totally dominating the battlefield! They are capable enough to take the place of many soldiers. Their sphere of influence - almost literally, as they are arranged in a circular pattern - can be determined by Magister Sieran's influence with Earth, or the Marshal's capability with necromancy. Leon can only imagine what it would have been like if Fiona was there - the added effect the mesmer would have would certainly be significant. As it is, motionless Risen fall in the dozens, only to be immolated by Magister Sieran's very literal firepower or disintegrated by the Pact's leader.

Balryvr is staring, too. "Magister Fiona has some very powerful friends," he observes.

Leon laughs. "That's the understatement of the century," he informs his friend.

"I know," the dredge replies gravely. "I'm glad we're on their side."

Leon shudders. "I hope we're never not."

Suddenly, a Whispers Agent - identified by his reddish, A-Key-generated aura - dashes out of the entrance the Champions are defending and threads his way through the Risen, dodging attacks, to where Marshal Trahearne is. After a moment, he returns to the other end of the battlefield to the Champions, and Magister Sieran and PC Tiffany leave with him.

The Pact forces on this battlefield group up to compensate for the loss of the ranged Champions, and PCs Forgal and Vriré - and Tiffany's companion - fight alongside soldiers that are mostly comprised of Vigil troops. Leon resumes firing the Boomstick, taking down Risen and using sonic power to topple some of the pillars of earth that Magister Sieran hadn't had time to utilize before leaving.

* * *

Sieran switches from the Aspect of Earth to the Aspect of Water as she runs with PC Tiffany to the docks, where there are reports of more Risen. There are already Pact forces - mostly dredge, who'd been working on the cannons - fighting the Risen already as they clamber onto the docking area.

"These cannons were supposed to be operational!" Sieran exclaims in distress. "What happened?"

"Careless explosion," a nearby dredge snarls. "They're all disabled."

"Pale Mother," Sieran breathes. "_This_ won't be cherry."

"Let's get in there, then," PC Tiffany notes, spinning daggers in her hands. She runs forward into the fray, stabbing and slicing and dodging attacks perfectly. Sieran still can't believe that she, Sieran, is part of the elite strike squad of the Pact. Sure, she's a fair hand with the elements, but she's just a Magister of the Priory! Fiona is a good example of a Pact Champion - but Sieran is nowhere near that level of awesomeness.

Sieran joins the fight, bringing waves of water from Terzetto Bay to wash away most of the Risen temporarily. She can do crowd control for now, until more soldiers show up. PC Tiffany takes advantage of the decreased numbers of Risen to throw herself in the middle of all of them - a feat Sieran would never have attempted - and start fighting.

Sieran can only stare as the quite capable Champion dodges over and under undead blades and slashes limbs off of Risen, impaling skulls with hidden daggers and knocking them off the ground with a sweep of her own foot.

But more and more Risen come, and Sieran can't see any end to them. Pulling the water from the docks only brings more Risen ashore and faster, so she switches to Fire. She throws fireballs and even rains down single ones on unsuspecting targets. As PC Tiffany dances through the flames, Sieran's power flows into the blades and they heat up, slicing through Risen easily.

In this manner, they manage to hold of the Risen fairly easily. After a few minutes, PC Vriré comes in and replaces Tiffany, who would be more effective partnering with her bear - Sieran thinks his name is Beorn, a fact that is confirmed through the Dream - but other than that, the battle remains even, neither side losing nor winning.

* * *

Vriré surveys the dock, noting the unmanned cannons and the Risen swarming the landing area. There is no coordination to any of it - the two forces intermingle, battling hard.

A Risen norn lurches up to her, a rusty hammer in its hands. Vriré throws an axe at its chest, and it whirls twice end over end before hitting. It falls to its knees, and Vriré spins her other blade once, lopping off its head. It collapses, and she watches it with a detached, grim expression. She picks up her fallen axe, spinning it slowly in her hand.

Vriré sweeps the dock once with her eyes, and attacks the nearest unoccupied foe, this time a human with a blank stare and white eyes, wielding two daggers. Vriré's blade skewers its skull and twists free. She moves to the next enemy, another human that clutches a focus and glowing dagger. Vriré's axes separate its hands from its arms, then spins one again and lets momentum carry it into the Risen, knocking it over. She ends its misery with her blade.

Each Risen that falls, each relieved, anguished cry of regret. These were all people, once, with lives and families and homes and friends and partners. Every time she frees a dragon minion from the corrupted clutch of its master is like a stab, a twist, a wound that never closes. Five thousand, seven hundred and fifty-two Risen. Three hundred and ninety-eight Branded. One thousand, four hundred and twenty-six Icebrood. One hundred and fifty Destroyers. Seven thousand, seven hundred and twenty-six dragon minions that are _not_ Koraw. She had freed these ones, released them, but Koraw is still out there. Hunting those not yet corrupted. Serving Kralkatorrik.

A krait with its evil grin frozen on its face approaches her, but a large rock smashes its head in before Vriré can kill it. _Even the krait have friends. Even for the slavers and torturers, corruption is undeserved._ Vriré would not have minded making the number five thousand, seven hundred and fifty _three_ for this krait.

Vriré turns to the next Risen, an asura with an expression of pure horror, two arrows clutched in its hands and dripping with poison. Vriré hates taking on foes her own size - they're so much harder to dodge around - but she does it anyway, blocking the arrows - which the Risen is using as stabbing instruments - with her axes, kicking it over and then burying her blade in its chest.

_These are too easy._ Vriré's next target is a charr with a broken horn and fur burned off in places, wielding a rusty rifle that shouldn't work. As she advances toward it, it takes an unsteady aim at her and - after pausing for a long moment - fires. It's almost pitifully amateur, and Vriré has no trouble dodging the bullet. _Zhaitan doesn't care about these ones. They're throwaway trash. Mere thralls; brainless zombies. The real conflict is elsewhere._ In range now, Vriré buries her sword in its chest and rips it out again.

Vriré glances around, assessing the situation again. The Risen are easy to kill, but there are so many of them that it is still an even fight. _And yet they're being smart enough to attack from multiple points._ Vriré's guess would be 'distraction' - from what, though, is anyone's guess.

_Unless…_ _Fiona._ She and Forgal had just arrived at Fort Trinity when the Risen attacked, and hadn't had time to tell Trahearne where they were going. _But Zhaitan couldn't possibly have known where we were and what we were going to do._

But Vriré hastens her step and quickens her blade. There has to be an end to Risen eventually.

* * *

As Tiffany returns to the outside battle with Beorn and Forgal, she passes Trahearne heading the opposite direction. _Of course. He needs to command inside the fort itself._

Tiffany rejoins the fight, glancing around for Fiona before realizing that she's still missing. Tiffany frowns and decides to ask Trahearne about that - later, after Fort Trinity is secure. She dismisses the problem for now and focuses on the battle.

There are a lot of Risen, and Sieran and Vriré aren't there. Tiffany, Beorn and Forgal tear through a lot of Risen, but they just can't cover the same ground as they could all together.

"We have to retreat!" Forgal shouts over the clash of battle. "There are too many! We can hold out longer standing in the mouth of the gate."

Tiffany shakes her head. An arrow goes through the eye of a Risen. "There's a switch to close and lock the gate - we can recover before we start fighting again. Or quell the Risen in Armada Harbor.

Forgal nods. "Good call." He then raises his voice and shouts, "retreat! There are too many!"

They back toward the gate Forgal takes the majority of the soldiers to join Sieran and Vriré, leaving a few others to hold back the Risen while Tiffany closes the gate.

Tiffany sees some Risen giants approaching. Hurriedly, she rushes to the first switch and pulls the lever, the runs to the other one. She wonders if this course of action had been necessary in the game - she only remembers that there was a battle at Fort Trinity, and the details had been lost to time.

"Come on!" Tiffany hollers to the few soldiers still fighting. "I can close the gate!"

"We can't do that," one of the Crusaders replies. "We can't hold them off _and_ close the gates. Just leave us!"

Tiffany frowns. She can't leave her soldiers. Enough of them had died to miscommunications in the last few weeks, and now she knows it's up to her to save them -

"Just go!" another soldier snarls. "We can deal with them."

"I can't leave… " But they're Risen Giants. They're much harder to kill and destroy things much more easily. They'd devastate the fort if they got in.

"Don't be a fool!" he shouts back at her. "Just do it already!"

Tiffany closes her eyes and takes a breath. Then she pulls the lever. The gate rolls closed. As the sight of those unstoppable foes, countered only by a few brave souls, is blocked from her view, Tiffany's shoulders slump and she turns away. _More have died… for me. For this insane hope we all have, that we can fight Elder Dragons._ They are her responsibility. The _Pact_ feels like her responsibility. But these soldiers had gone by their own choice, willingly.

A lump forms in her throat as she realizes that they're probably dead already, and corrupted into monsters. She twitches. She wants to wrench open the gate and put all the corpses outside it to rest. _Claim no more, Zhaitan. Please._

But she turns and heads away. The current threat, loath as she is to admit it, is elsewhere.

"Tiffany!" comes Tonn's voice from beside her. "I've got some grenades designed just for these undead! Want to try? Gotta get them back for attacking us somehow."

"Sure," Tiffany shrugs, glancing back at the gate. Her soldiers are her responsibility, and she'd failed them yet again. "Let's get these Risen out of our fort. And tell them never to come back."

* * *

PC Tiffany and an asura join Sieran, PC Forgal, and PC Vriré on the docks. The sonic cannons hadn't had time to be repaired before the battle, and Sieran wonders if the 'sonic explosion' had really been one of Zhaitan's tricks, or a communication glitch. But the Pact doesn't seem to need the cannons; they are doing just fine without them.

Sieran can only stare in awe as PC Tiffany and her bear slot in perfectly with PC Forgal, fighting the Risen almost expertly. _Vigil._

"Risen are coming from the submarine dock!" Trahearne calls from a gate that leads to the center of Fort Trinity. Trahearne summons Forgal and Vriré - along with a few other soldiers - to combat the new threat.

As Forgal and Vriré depart, Sieran is again left with the second most awesome Pact Champion and her companion. The pair fight through many Risen, defending the area of Armada Harbor that leads both outside again and up the ramp to the center of the fort. But the Risen have the advantage now. The undead are pressing their attack for all they are worth. The one saving grace is that while fallen Pact rise again, once any undead falls it is dead for good. That means there are no dragon champions around to resurrect them.

Sieran isn't sure whether this is a good thing - this battle will be won more easily, and Zhaitan probably doesn't have any more champions - or a bad thing - Zhaitan doesn't care and yet has this many troops to waste.

Whatever the reason, the Risen are pushing them back, and have them pressed up against the ramp that leads to the second gate, and the Pact is retreating.

But still there are too many - too many Risen, not enough Pact. PC Tiffany is too immersed in battle to notice, but Sieran sees the Pact soldiers here being overwhelmed. But she can't call for retreat - what if they can handle it? What if she would be giving the Risen exactly what they want? Normally, Sieran would let her backup Magister decide - but there is no backup Magister. Well, PC Tiffany counts, but Sieran can't get to her.

Act with wisdom, but act. Sieran had never been able to follow this tenet very well; acting with wisdom is foreign to her. She isn't a wise sort of person. She had also never been able to figure out if acting unwisely trumps not acting at all. This situation, however, tells her that not acting is as problematic as acting unwisely. Not acting is still making the decision. Sieran can't make this decision! She doesn't know what's best for the soldiers fighting here. They're fighting and dying and making the Risen pay for every inch they gain, and Sieran is sitting here not acting at all.

"Retreat!" another voice calls. Sieran glances back to see General Almorra standing on the overlooking ledge behind the disabled sonic cannons. "Fall back to the center of the fort!"

PC Tiffany - and all the other Vigil, for that matter - automatically start putting priority on retreating, defending their backs as they retreat up the ramp. The rest of the soldiers fighting get the hint and start retreating back to the center of the fort.

Sieran is one of the last to head through the switch-operated gate, with the Risen close behind her. "We're through!" she tells Tiffany. "Pull it!"

Tiffany pulls the lever. A few Risen weaklings stumble through as it starts rolling shut, but the Pact deals with them quickly.

Just then, an asura bolts toward the gate. "Ceera's in there!" he yells.

PC Tiffany gasps, and tries to pull the lever the other way. But the gates don't stop. She pulls harder, but the lever doesn't budge. "Tonn, no!" she shouts, as he dashes headlong toward the gate. "Tonn - !"

But he doesn't even slow down. As Tonn runs past her, Sieran grabs his arm. "Don't die," she tells him seriously. Intensely. "Whoever Ceera is, she wouldn't want you to die with her." She holds his terrified gaze for a moment. The gates thud closed behind them.

Tonn stares at her for a moment longer. He turns away, his ears drooping. "I… I have to go," he says, and Sieran can hear the tears in his voice as he walks away. He doesn't run, as if to get away from the awfulness. He just walks. Slowly, dejectedly.

Tiffany seems to be without words for a moment. "Tonn, I'm sorry," PC Tiffany says quietly as he passes her.

Tonn pauses and looks up at her. "I know." He stares at her for a moment longer, then moves on.

Sieran can sense the despair from Tiffany, the self-blame, the grief. Sieran approaches her and stands beside her, looking after the asura as he walks away, grief in his posture. "You did your best," Sieran tells her.

Tiffany shakes her head. "I could've let a few more Risen in to save her. I could've gone to her myself - I can fight a few Risen. Instead I took the easy way and pulled a switch. She saved my life, Sieran. Now she's dead because of my own laziness."

Sieran blinks. "You stopped the Risen. Tonn understands. Stop beating yourself up over it - it was an honest mistake. You pulled the switch _before_ you knew she was in there, remember."

Tiffany sighs. "Yeah." She doesn't sound convinced.

Sieran realizes suddenly that Tiffany isn't infallible. She's just as prone as Sieran is to mistakes - and the consequences are just as bad.

"You're not perfect," Sieran tells her. "Trust the Dream."

Tiffany blinks at her. "Alright." She sighs. "Thanks, Sieran."

* * *

When Trahearne, Forgal, and Vriré return from the docks with the soldiers they'd taken with them, the gate is reopened and the attack resumed.

Tiffany follows behind slowly, still rather shocked about Ceera. It had all happened so fast. Now Ceera is dead - and likely Risen - and Tonn… who knows about Tonn. _I'll have to find him after the battle._

Tiffany doesn't know what she would say, but she knows Tonn needs somebody to be there for him. She knows what it feels like, grieving alone, and she won't let him go through that.

What really stuns her, though, is the difference between Tonn's reaction to Ceera's death and Ceera's reaction to Tonn's death. _Not to speak ill of the dead… and that was just a game anyway._ Tiffany's experience of Ceera in the here and now - in real life - so much contradicts her experience of her in the game that it is almost like another reality.

_In the game, Tonn died, and it was honestly not my fault. In real life, Ceera died… and I probably could have done more to save her._

In all truth, Tiffany isn't feeling very much like the Pact Champion she tries to be... and she hates it. _I can do better than this. I will._

Beorn nudges her mentally. He sends her the focused concentration of battle, with little to no emotion. That means _calm_, at least to the two companions. Then the intense interest that comes with reading a book. _Literally._ A smile tugs at Tiffany's lips. _Calm down. And start fighting._

Tiffany takes a deep breath and opens up the bond, merging their minds through the combination of bond and Dream. Axes spin in her hands, and she reenters the fray. An axe takes off the head of one Risen, opens up the chest of another, hacks the limbs off yet another. Beorn claws open one that approaches from the left, and Tiffany kicks another one out of the way and throws her axe after it. She jabs a dagger into the skull of the one on the right. A Risen clambers over the fallen corpse and taken the axe, so Beorn goes after it while Tiffany grapples with a larger Risen, taking a wound - really just a long scratch - along her right arm.

Surprise comes from Beorn, and Tiffany turns to see that the Risen he is facing is Ceera. The asura charges at Beorn, swinging the axe towards his head. He dodges backward, but Tiffany grimaces. Facing Risen friends so soon after having seen them alive is unnerving. She fishes out another dagger from her sleeve and watches almost detachedly as the asura approaches her. She doesn't want to. She'd been alive so recently.

Not like Deborah, whom she'd had time to mourn.

Tiffany refocuses her mind, and, after a moment of hesitation, crouches down slightly and takes the axe out of Ceera's hands carefully, with a sad grimace. As if she were an errant child with a dangerous toy. Then - quickly, before she loses her nerve - she plunges the dagger into Ceera's heart. She flinches as soon as she does so, but Ceera's Risen form is now motionless. _It was the least I could do for her, after she saved my life._

Blue fire appears and consumes the fallen medic. _Some guardian keeping an eye out for the dead._ Tiffany sends a prayer of thanks to the Dream.

Then, she rises from her crouch and faces the hordes of Risen. Soldiers fall. People die. The battle goes on.

* * *

After the battle, Tiffany goes looking for Tonn. She finds him in the Alseta Zone, holding a locket and staring at the wall as if in thought.

Tiffany stands in silence for a moment, watching him. She doesn't know what to say, or if she needs to say anything at all.

"I know you did your best," Tonn says eventually. He remains silent for a long moment, and somehow Tiffany knows that he has more to say. She doesn't speak. Waiting. After a minute, he says, "I… don't blame you, though of course I wish you could have done more."

Tiffany realizes that Tonn is being painfully honest with her. But she doesn't know what to say. "I… I'm sorry." She means it. Ceera had been nothing but kind to her. She hesitates, unsure how to word her next statement. "I… she won't rise again."

Tonn looks at her, finally, and Tiffany is surprised at how… small and _vulnerable_ he seems. "I... thank you," he tells her, looking down at the locket. "She always focused on life. She wanted to be a teacher before we came here to fight, and then she became a medic. Thank you."'

Tiffany smiles weakly. "It was the least I could do. You've both saved my life a few times. And I… I wish things had gone differently."

"I know." Tonn flashes a weak grin. "You can stop apologizing now."

Tiffany's mouth twitches into a smile as she bites back another 'sorry.' "Okay. I would say I'm here anytime you need me, but Trahearne could send me away at any time."

"I understand. The sentiment is appreciated."

There is silence for a moment.

After a minute, Tiffany hears footsteps behind her, and a voice says, "Pact Champion Tiffany?"

Tiffany turns to see a nervous-seeming Whispers Agent behind her. "That's me," Tiffany confirms, raising a curious eyebrow.

"I have a message for you," the Agent tells her, handing over a sealed letter.

"Thank you," Tiffany says, nodding. He turns and runs off. Frowning at the letter in interest, she breaks the seal and unfolds it, with an awkward half-step away from Tonn.

_The Heroes of Shaemoor Tiffany and Fiona Tassof:_

_Your reputations precede you. You may not know me, but I know you. I'm calling upon you because you have proven your concern for the welfare of Kryta and Divinity's Reach. _

_There are Risen in Shaemoor, and at least one civilian - a widow by the name of Eda - has been killed and corrupted. Two children of the Sartini family have disappeared and have been taken through a mountain pass in the southwestern corner of Shaemoor._

_Zhaitan does not have a record of being this selective of its targets. If you investigate - and I sincerely hope you do - please retain a high level of caution._

_I'd wish you luck, but luck is what fools and idiots require to stay alive. You, I believe, are neither._

_I may contact you again,_  
_—E_

"What's wrong?" Tonn asks cautiously.

Tiffany shakes her head, unable to comprehend the news. _Mat and Ayla? Captured by Risen?_ "I… I have to go." She turns and heads toward the exit of the Alseta Zone. A few steps and she is running. She nearly flees the Alseta Zone, making a beeline for the asura gates. She hurries through to the Vigil Keep and waypoints to Shaemoor.

* * *

"Tiffany!" comes a familiar voice, but full of distress.

Tiffany glances down the street to see Petra hurrying toward her from Mat and Ayla's house. "I heard there were Risen," Tiffany says urgently as her adoptive mother gets within earshot. "What - "

"Not just Risen," Petra sobs, hugging Tiffany tightly. "Deborah."

Tiffany's eyes widen. _I __knew__ I couldn't count on that braindead dragon to leave her alone._ She snarls, "I'm going to rip off Zhaitan's tail and strangle that dragon with it! After I murder this abomination it has spawned!* Where did it go?"

"It happened near Eda's house," Petra tells her, still clinging to her tightly. No sign of the over-protective mother that Petra had been last time Tiffany saw her is still present; she is a wreck. "Eda has been Risen, too. They specifically left Katherine alive long enough for me to find her, but she didn't make it. She isn't Risen, thank Grenth, but… but Deborah took Mat and Ayla."

"That isn't Deborah," she snarls. "It's a dragon minion that needs to be killed. It's not Deborah." After a moment to re-center herself, she asks, "did Katherine see where it took Mat and Ayla? And… what about Eda?"

"Eda… the Seraph…" Petra begins, then hesitates. Tiffany nods in understanding - of course the Seraph would have dealt with a Risen. "Deborah took them south, that's all we know," Petra tells her. "Find them. Please. Katherine - "

"I understand," Tiffany assures her. "I'll find them."

* * *

The two unlikely mission partners find each other in the middle of Fort Trinity after the battle.

"Lightbringer," Forgal says stoically.

"Warmaster," Vriré replies neutrally.

There is a beat of silence in which they trade inscrutable looks.

"We have an ally to rescue," Lightbringer Vriré says finally, breaking the silence. "Where is Trahearne?"

"Last at the submarine dock, if I recall correctly," Forgal says dryly. _Fighting alongside __us__._ Why it had been mutually assumed that he and Vriré would fight together and search for Fiona together, Forgal doesn't know, but it had been. _If Trahearne lets us._ Somehow, it had also been assumed that they would be sent to find Fiona, not recover the orb or make absolutely sure that Apatia hadn't survived.

Without a word, Lightbringer Vriré turns and heads back toward the submarine dock. Forgal follows.

"Forgal, Vriré," Trahearne says upon seeing them. "There you are. I'm afraid we didn't get a chance to finish our briefing earlier. I'll inform General Almorra about Crusader Apatia."

"Good," Forgal replies with a nod. "But also… Fiona's been captured by a Risen. Or Flame Legion. I'm not exactly sure which."

"We were ambushed by a Risen mesmer," Lightbringer Vriré explains. "It took the orb - which is fully functional as reported - and told us that Fiona is being held at a Flame camp in the Dragonbrand in Ascalon."

Trahearne frowns. "You… trust the word of a Risen?"

Forgal grimaces. "I don't like it, and there are any number of things that could go wrong. But if it's true, we need to get out there, and fast. The Flame Legion didn't participate in the Ebonhawke Treaty, so I'll be surprised if she isn't dead. But if she were just going to be killed, the Risen would have done so and spared the trouble of going all the way to Ascalon. That implies some level of control over the Flame, too."

"The Risen also had to have had a motive for telling us," the Lightbringer cautions. "My belief is that she is our communications glitch - which, above all else, is grave news. I didn't know Zhaitan was capable of such long-term schemes. Fiona might be kept alive for any number of reasons - torture, bait, or just to keep her away from the Pact. On the other hand, she may have just been killed and raised again."

"She may not be able to be raised," Trahearne tells them.

Vriré raises an eyebrow skeptically. "She's not sylvari."

"No, but in a visit to the Pale Tree during the Battle of Lion's Arch, she and Tiffany were taken into the Dream and given its protection. It was a highly unique event, and it only worked the way it did because of special circumstances surrounding them, but they may be immune to Corruption now."

"So the Flame Legion are keeping her so the Risen don't have to," Forgal grimaces. "And maybe they're pumping her for information about the Pact. But either way, she's in danger. And she's also our only lead on the mesmer."

Trahearne frowns. "Was anything said about Tactician Syska? Female charr, Vigil."

"Female Vigil charr was the disguise she used to fight us with," Vriré points out. "She wielded a greatsword in that form, if that's any help. If she's our communications glitch, I wouldn't be surprised if the Risen had a Pact-friendly guise. Is the Tactician usually isolated from groups, with no close friends?"

Trahearne blinks. "I can ask Doern. But remember that Tactician Syska may only have been a temporary persona, although of course you should exercise full caution. By all means, go and find Fiona, and if you get any leads on the mesmer or Tactician Syska, find out as much as you can. Will you need backup?"

Forgal shakes his head. "The Flame are all but beaten - we can handle them. From the information we were given, it's also a newer camp or hideout, so it won't be a fully-manned fortress."

"Good. Tiffany and Sieran are still here with the Pact, but try to return as soon as possible."

"We'll try," Vriré replies.

"Don't forget to count yourself in that assessment, Trahearne," Forgal adds seriously.

Trahearne shakes his head with a grimace. "I'm not a soldier, Forgal. I'm a scholar, and leading an army is foreign to me."

Forgal looks at him sternly. "You just won a major battle, 'scholar.' That's the second so far, not counting Concordia. I think you've lost the ability to deny being a soldier."

"Believe you can, and you're halfway there*," Lightbringer Vriré reminds him. "And you've been hitting the mark consistently without believing you can. Imagine what you could do if you _did_." She turns to Forgal. "Warmaster, we have to go.

* * *

Fiona is sore and stiff from lying in the same position all night. Her injuries at least aren't bleeding all over the place anymore, but she is afraid to move too much. And, unless she is very much mistaken, Syska will bring more today. _Unless she's left again?_

Fiona wonders how long it will be before Syska's promise of a torturous death comes true. But she knows one thing; she won't beg for it. If she's supposed to be an example for the female charr, she needs to remain strong. If she's wrong about why the Dream wants her to do this, then it has a reason for letting her believe otherwise… and in either case, she doesn't want to show weakness. That would be both unwise and humiliating, after her strong show so far.

When Grania comes to open the cell and escort her upstairs, the charr gives Fiona a wider berth than usual. Walking gingerly into the kitchen, Fiona notices all eyes on her. This unnerves her, especially when none of them will speak to her. _I wonder what they think of me, if Calera told them what I said last night._

However, instead of leaving Fiona and getting back to her own work, Grania leads the injured human to a clear spot on the floor that Fiona could swear hadn't been there yesterday.

"What's going on?" Fiona asks her quietly, hoping only Grania hears. Given the sensitivity of a charr's ears, they might have all heard.

"You have been hurt badly, and are in no shape for working," Grania tells her at a normal volume. "You would probably get in the way, and be slower than any of the rest of us," she adds, to nods from the others. "But since you are supposed to be here, you will be here. Sit, or lie down." After a moment's pause, she adds, "recover quickly. We, er… you could get back to work sooner."

"Uh, thanks, I guess," Fiona says, watching the charr return to their work. She isn't entirely fooled. They're being considerate… and they have a cover story. Fiona had never been the sort of person to sit around while other people did work; not unless she'd earned it somehow. But when Orchard glances over and points a stern claw at the floor, Fiona reluctantly sits, careful not to disturb her injuries.

_Am I at the mercy of all the charr now, not just the males?_ Fiona wonders bemusedly. She does, however, appreciate the opportunity to sit and not risk aggravating her wounds.

Her wounds, which had healed at a remarkable pace over the last few days. _I do have some Protection magic… maybe it's a passive effect?_

Fiona wonders if she can actively heal herself, even a little; her signet ring powered by Deception had been taken with her Deception foci, so her limited Protection will have to do - if she can figure out how.

Fiona wonders if spending the energy to figure out how is worth it; the shield she'd summoned the other day for Eda had drained her energy enough to be felt, in the short time she'd channeled it. She could just let the injuries heal on their own, a process which would be inhibited by spending energy on useless spells.

Fiona decides to wait; she might have need of her healing if she receives a more major wound than just scratches. _I knew I had Protection. Why didn't I at least learn the basics of healing myself?_

Then, Syska walks in. Fiona freezes; her earlier reluctance to rest while others work returns, and this is the authority - or one of them - that had decreed she work anyway. She notices the other females fidgeting, as well.

Syska raises an eyebrow at Asprena, who sighs and explains the cover story; most of the charr are scurrying about their tasks with double speed, darting occasional glances at Syska or Fiona. Calera isn't one of them, but she is working.

Suddenly, Fiona realizes that this feeling - felt, she can tell, by everyone in the room - is guilt: and she should not, of all things, be feeling guilty for disobeying Syska. Fiona meets Syska's eyes with a defiant glare, and doesn't move from the spot.

Syska strides up to Fiona, Asprena at her side. "Still stubborn, are we?" Syska sneers. "Now, I recall you didn't answer my question yesterday. Why _are_ you so stubborn?"

Fiona tilts her head, wondering how to answer. A line from a movie comes to her, and barely restrains herself from grinning. "Because I _choose_," she replies. Even if Syska seems more independent than other Risen, she is still ultimately controlled by Zhaitan. Fiona recalls her curiosity last night, if Zhaitan - and therefore Syska - know about the true war between the Dream and Satan - whatever guise he has adopted for himself in Tyria, if any.

"But _why?_" Syska hisses, voicing a concern that Tiffany had had when they watched the movie. "Nobody makes a choice without reason, and even fewer hold on to such a choice when confronted with this level of… antagonistic action."

"Ah, now, that's another question entirely," Fiona replies breezily. "You should have said that before." She considers a moment. "It's called war," she finally explains. "Not humans against charr, not females verses males, not the living versus the dead - but the spirit of the Dream versus the spirit of your master's master. I don't know what he's called in this world."

The other females are looking on in confusion - or sharp-eyed contemplation - but Syska roars and slams her paw into Fiona's head. No claws this time, but she hardly needs to. Fiona falls back against the wall, her head throbbing. She can barely keep her eyes open; she thinks she's about to faint. She slides down the wall, aggravating her other injuries, and a pitiful moan escapes her lips. Asprena takes a single step back.

Standing over her, Syska sneers. "I should kill you now," she hisses. Fiona inwardly notes the paraphrase of the reply to her quote; _I'm supposed to. I should. This is what I have to do._ Why Syska doesn't, in this instance, since she's a deliberately controlled minion, Fiona doesn't know; but she doubts it is insubordination to Zhaitan. Syska leans in closer, her words now barely a whisper. "Nothing would save you from rising. I have the orb now."

Fiona blinks at Syska, scrambling to understand what she'd just said. _Orb? What orb? What does that have to do with the Dream not letting me become a Risen? Oh wait, is that the key she mentioned?_

"I'll be back, _Dreamer_." Syska says the last word with such venom that it surprises Fiona; but, as Jesus had said, _they will hate you because they first hated me_. Fiona tries to smile, but it comes out as a grimace. _Well, that's the Dream talking. Me remembering relevant Bible verses at opportune moments._

But Syska' revelation - that there is an orb that can stop the dead from rising - has shaken her. _Is that the key she meant? This orb?_ Fiona can't recall Tiffany ever mentioning an orb with this power, but she has to admit that if it exists, it being in the possession of Zhaitan's minions is not good. _Wait, is this the thing that prevented the Spar Warband from rising? And Crusader Apatia's team?_ That puts a new perspective on things. And proves that Syska isn't just lying. She carefully picks herself up off the floor; her back is bleeding again, and her shoulder is throbbing painfully, but at least she doesn't feel like she's about to faint anymore.

Of course, everyone else in the room is still staring at her. Fiona shrugs her uninjured shoulder. "Hi?" she asks tentatively.

"You are too cheerful," Calera says bluntly, shaking her head in disbelief.

Fiona frowns; the charr is right. She's being put through pain, humiliation, and injury; anyone else would be bitter and short-tempered and resentful, and would have been incapable of replying to Syska in such a defiant yet measured way. "Yeah, definitely," Fiona agrees, nodding.

Calera blinks at the odd reply, and turns back to her work. Reluctantly - glancing back frequently - the others follow suit. Fiona notices Grania staring at her, but can't begin to deduce why. _Possibly because I can't read charr faces yet,_ Fiona notes, as another female elbows Grania with a whisper, and Grania's ears flicker backward. Grania glances at Fiona again, then returns to her work.

Fiona returns to her seat on the floor, suddenly dreading Syska's return, which - if she knows Syska - will signify yet another round of being beaten up, this time with little to no provocation, save her revelation to Syska that she is a Dreamer. _And who knows what she can say to the other charr to rile __them__ up?_ The question she'd asked, seemingly a lifetime ago - about how Syska gets the Flame Legion involved in the first place - had never been answered.

But, hey, at least she knows what she's getting into now. She'd never expected to become a martyr for her faith, and yet, here the opportunity has appeared, seemingly as easy as in Bible times. If words such as 'opportunity' and 'easy' can be used in conjunction with dying, that is.

_Oh great, Tiffany's gonna have a fit._ It does sound pretty bizarre, if Fiona is being honest. Fiona Tassof was killed _by a Risen_ because she was a Christian. It's nearly headache-inducing, really, considering all the acrobatics that logic has had to perform to get her here.

Come to think of it, though, Syska probably won't kill her. Torture her until she begs for death, then mockingly deny it, maybe - but Syska wants her miserable, not dead, for whatever reason. _Probably I'm no use dead, the Dream won't let me be Risen myself._

Although, why Syska wouldn't just kill a powerful enemy like Fiona, even if it doesn't confer the same benefit - Fiona can think up several reasons, none of them good.

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

So much happened in this chapter, didn't it?


	15. Chapter 14: Consequences

THE UNBROKEN

* * *

Dedication: _rubs head tiredly_ I don't know. Not deadlines, certainly. I'll never dedicate anything of mine to deadlines. Also, I have decided: homeschool co-ops are probably just as boring as real school, and I much prefer actual homeschooling. (I think it was the deadline. Trying to cram a ton of information into an hour and a half, instead of spacing it out and having a whole nice long discussion time so I can actually understand the material - which would be interesting if it wasn't so _dry_ \- ) AND SEE! Deadlines again! They make the quality of _everything_ go down. (Also, this dedication is called, I have been homeschooling my whole life and not just since COVID started, and so I have the experience to actually make an informed decision on these things. Don't ask me why I've never had a homeschool co-op before, but this is barely any different since it's still my mom teaching the _one_ co-op class I'm taking). ANYWAY. Dedication is to _real_ homeschooling, where I get to pester Mom with all the questions I want, and when our conversations go on for hours and it eventually turns into me picking her brain - which contains a degree in practical psychology - for things to help this story, and it counts as school.

* * *

Chapter fourteen: Consequences

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

I was just struck with the sudden thought that we're getting closer to the end of the book. We're almost halfway already. And then we'll be _done_ for a good long while. I DO NOT WANT TO BE DONE. There are more stories to be told here.

Who knows? Maybe I will. Maybe. Perhaps I'll find that next year's _Tassof Series_ anniversary will be too special to pass up posting something. (Maybe the audio version? I recently (as in, before I started posting _The Unbroken_ again) polled the Discord group on whether they'd prefer me to work on an audio book - old content - or _The Unbroken_ \- new content. Personally I like old content too, but still.)

Part of the reason I'm sad is that the _Tassof Series_ was going to be the one project I actually finished. It started as 'haha, wouldn't it be cool if I wrote a self-insert story where I fixed all the bad stuff? haha let's write one chapter and forget about it like all the others.' _looks at five books, nearly 100 chapters and over half a million words_. Oops. I guess that didn't go as planned.

Worst. Delay. EVER. This is two weeks and three days late, and I am _super_ sorry. The only good news is that this chapter is extra-long. And I _may_ get out the next chapter by Monday, so we'll be almost caught up.

…

Really, the 'dedication' is just a fancy author's note that is not necessarily relevant to the story. Can't believe I only noticed that just now, but okay.

_**Okay, here's the story now:**_

* * *

Asprena is casting unreadable looks in Fiona's direction. Calera is keeping an eye on her. Grania is staring again. Orchard seems to be pondering the conundrum of the weird human. Some of the other females are glancing craftily between Asprena and Fiona. Wherever Calera goes, people clear out of her way silently.

Everything silently. Fiona doesn't know what to make of it, save that she'd impacted all of them in some way.

Syska returns. "Calera, come. And bring the human."

Calera hesitates for half a second, and Syska slaps her hard - but still no claws. Orchard gasps and Fiona winces in sympathy, trying not to think what awaits _her_ outside with Syska in such a mood.

Calera's ears flicker backward, and she seems to shrink slightly. Syska turns and leaves the room, and Calera turns toward Fiona, her tail drooping slightly.

But Fiona stands on her own and follows Calera - who has started to growl in a low, almost resentful whine - out the door on her own power. She won't be dragged into this - she is going to go deliberately and willingly. On the way, Fiona mutters a "sorry" to Calera, who still looks rather downtrodden despite the growl.

Calera aims a sidelong glance at Fiona, and her tail twitches, but says nothing in return. She stops growling, though.

The crowd of male charr surrounding a clear spot in the middle - now clearly marked - is even louder than yesterday. Given the barrage of subtle hostility that had preceded yesterday's - only yesterday's? - conflict, Fiona doesn't doubt that they are eager for more. She'd aggravated Clawburn and been scratched up for it. Now she'd aggravated Syska, who seems to be stepping things up a notch. And doesn't have to fly into a rage to do it.

But she holds her head high and follows Calera into the ring; Syska draws Calera aside and whispers a new order to her. With a calculating glance at Fiona, Calera leaves.

Fiona breathes deeply. She clutches her hands together to stop them from trembling, and tries to work out the hitch in her breath. She isn't sure what it is about the beginning that terrifies her so much, but she doesn't think it's just anticipation. Part of it must be that she's already feeling the pain - the old injuries are still there, and imagining new ones added, opening the old wounds, makes her twitch.

But for all her fear, she puts on a calm, sure facade, somehow concealing the tremors racking her inside. She's not going to die, she's going to be tortured as only angry, bloodthirsty fiends are capable of. Somehow, that makes it worse. It's not just the pain, it's the fact that the people doing it to her are having _fun_. They're not in full battle, they're playing with her. _Like cats and mice,_ she notes, and the metaphor would have been funny if she weren't about to wish she were dead.

Syska steps in close to Fiona, and, in a tone clearly pitched for Fiona's ears alone, snarls, "no mercy for Dreamers."

As Syska steps away, Fiona wonders if Zhaitan knows that all the sylvari are Dreamers; and if it does, then some miracle had protected Trahearne in Orr for twenty-some years. An odd thought, but there it is.

Koltir steps out of the ring, his claws already out. _She's not even starting with Clawburn._ Come to think of it… Fiona's eyes dart through the crowd briefly. Clawburn is nearby, his eyes - not on Fiona or Koltir as she might expect, but on Syska. His arms are crossed. He looks calmly angry. Or… resentful?

Syska smiles in an evil sort of way as Koltir approaches. He snarls in a predatory fashion and crouches at the end of the makeshift arena. Fiona resists the urge to take a step back and tries to make eye contact to show she isn't afraid. Koltir lunges at her, snarling, and clears the distance easily, flying through the air and bowling Fiona over.

**CONTENT WARNING: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE**

Koltir crouches next to Fiona, now flat on her back with all the air driven out of her lungs as she tries to gasp for air; he smirks cruelly and sinks his claws deeply into her left arm. Fiona stiffens, biting her lip to keep from crying out. As she feels his claws sinking deeper, feeling things from _inside_ her arm as oppose to the surface of it; she shrieks, her voice jumping higher as his claws sink deeper, until she can do no more than whimper and moan and thrash around, trying not to jerk the claw inside her.

She can't focus on anything but the pain. She arches her back, trying not to move, and she wonders numbly how such a wound will ever heal - this isn't a scratch, it's a _hole_, how it hasn't broken a bone yet is anyone's guess - then it vanishes, and she collapses in relief, panting, not caring what she looks like now, so long as she gets up and faces it again…

Fiona squeezes her eyes shut - _no, no, do I really have to do this, no!_ \- and howls into the air, keening her fear and pain and whatever else is bundled inside her mind, hidden behind the layers of panic and the desire to just run, run far away and never look back, to be done with this whole sordid affair.

She lies there, trembling on the ground, suddenly aware that all Koltir had done was to stab her, hadn't she taken injury in battle before? How had he dominated her so thoroughly with a single wound?

Her breathing jagged, she opens her eyes to see him still looming over her; _I'm relatively fine, I'm fine, I'm fine,_ she chants to herself, but she can't quite make herself believe it. _I've been stabbed before, taken multiple wounds, I'm not about to die_. She'd laughed in the face of pain, once. Before Tyria, when she'd been the rogue adventurer, climbing trees and exploring forests. She'd dominated pain, once, as a Magister of the Priory and honorary member of the Vigil, when she'd easily overcome her enemies.

Now, she's helpless, she's vulnerable, and has just been utterly overcome by a single stab wound.

She takes another shuddering breath, clenches her fists, and braces herself. Koltir is staring at her, and she realizes he had been startled by her unprompted scream _after_ he'd removed his claw.

She opens her mouth to say something, but the words fail her and she just stares at him, suddenly realizing how truly vulnerable she is, lying on the ground, with this monster standing over her. She's in this voluntarily. He's hesitating, she's regained control of her senses - to an extent - and she could easily roll away, escape. But she's not, and she finds that's all she can do; she can't defiantly taunt Koltir into harming her, she can't muster the last of her strength to even offer him a hand - all she can do is consent by silence.

She can do that; that is within her power. She is even calming down; her heartrate is slowing, her breathing evens as Koltir hesitates. She casts her eyes around her, not moving her head. She sees that Calera has returned, with some of the other females. Syska is keeping a close watch on them, but they are staring at her with horror. Some - including Grania - aren't looking at all.

"You…" she whispers, but her voice falters. They're breaking her; they'd already defeated her defiance. She can't let them win this way.

Koltir moves in again, a gleam in his eye, and presses a claw to her arm in a different spot. Fiona stiffens - _please, no, please_ \- but he hesitates for a moment, and Fiona regains what limited composure she has, at least mentally. She forces herself to relax, and she knows Koltir can feel it; he snarls at her and, rather than one hole in her arm, he clenches a fist and drives five claws in. Fiona dimly notes that he wants to hear her scream, to beg for mercy, to see the fear in her eyes.

But Fiona doesn't; her eyes slide closed; she stiffens, her body arching backward, pressing into the ground; and she is screaming, but there is no sound, air is hissing out of her mouth, but no sound; she twitches, clenching her fists and kicking her feet, throwing her shoulders back. She can feel tears coursing down her face, but she is completely silent, somehow, until her energy is exhausted and she collapses, gasping for air, clenching the muscles all through her body, huddling into herself - and then the pain stops, or at least stops getting worse, as Koltir halts the slow pressure.

His claws are still in her arm though, and every small movement pains Fiona; so she tries to stay still; but her tight muscles, cramped now, resist the lack of movement. Her breaths come in short spurts, panting - her face glistens with sweat as if she'd just run a marathon - and Koltir releases her.

**END OF CONTENT WARNING**

He steps back with a snort of disgust. "She can't even scream right," he snarls at Syska.

But others are ready to take up the challenge; first one, then another, step forward to torment her, and by the end of it, Fiona is out of tears; she stays on the ground, staring at the sky, unable to look to see what next, despite the torment of not knowing. She'd been run through a physical and emotional wringer - she has nothing left. They're just tearing at her for the blood, maybe, a mocking mimicry of the real battles they can't have. Maybe she'll say so. Eventually. When she has the strength.

And all the while, Syska standing off to the side, an unbearable look of smugness on her face, watching her pet Dreamer be tortured in such a manner.

And then Calera is standing over her, and Fiona's spirits sag further - insult to injury, salt to the wound, to have the other females take part, especially Calera, who'd seemed like she cared despite her words - but Calera, claws hidden, picks her up under the shoulders, hugging her awkwardly. Fiona feels her feet rise into the air, supported by another charr, and she is carried somewhere. Down. Probably to her cell.

She is set down, and muffled voices are talking - Fiona can barely pay attention. Staring at the ceiling, she notes that she isn't in her cell; and then Calera is leaning over her again, talking to her, but Fiona can't bring herself to pay attention until Syska appears, a triumphant smirk on her face.

Syska whispers, a cruel gleam in her eye, "and Pact Champion Tiffany will have to fight your sister alone, now, won't she?"

Fiona blinks slowly at Syska, barely comprehending the words. _Wait. Deborah's Risen... again?_ But another thought seizes her; Deborah is like Syska now. An odd pressure behind her eyes attests to the fact that she isn't quite as empty of tears as she had thought she was. "You _monster_," Fiona whispers, and then she turns to the side, not caring that Syska had actually had nothing to do with Deborah's death and corruption. _That honor lies with Forgal,_ Fiona reminds herself bitterly.

Her sister, Deborah, has been corrupted just like Syska, the horrific being that has been torturing Fiona for the last few days. Fiona weeps silent tears for Deborah, defiled so irreverently. _Forgal was never Risen. He was the one who __should__ have died, like he did before._

But Forgal is not dead; and Fiona is here alone, without even Tiffany, who might have understood. Her other sister, who'd been with her always even in the previous lifetime on earth.

Overcome by emotion and exhaustion, Fiona slips into sleep, wishing things could go back to the way they had been. Before the lives of those she cared about were at risk.

Before she resented the life of a person she'd considered a friend.

* * *

It is the forty-third of the Scion Season, the day after the attack on Fort Trinity, and the Pact's headquarters has returned to a relative state of normalcy. More normal than it had been while traveling, in fact - the communication glitches have not yet resurfaced, and the trail seems to have gone cold, with no new information on Tactician Syska. Trahearne is still holding out hope for information from Fiona, however, but that will have to wait until she is rescued.

But for now, it is finally time to focus on the second stage of the campaign against Zhaitan. They had arrived on Zhaitan's doorstep, and now it is time to start intruding upon the dragon's domain. The sonic cannons at Armada Harbor are still being repaired, but Trahearne had been thinking up a plan for the last few weeks, and the cannons are mostly irrelevant except as a last line of defense.

"Do you know where Tiffany is?" he asks Sieran.

Sieran blinks. "No, I don't. I haven't seen her since the battle yesterday."

Trahearne frowns slightly. "Go check the Alseta Zone. I'll speak to General Almorra and see if she's seen her."

Across the room, General Almorra is talking to Warmaster Efut, a tactician who had helped Trahearne with the logistics of military campaigns while he planned his Orrian invasion strategy.

"The Aspects do not like each other, in any form," General Almorra is telling Efut. "A given Aspect does not even like the _Facets_ of the other Aspects."

"But the Facets of one Aspect don't dislike the Facets of another Aspect," Efut returns.

"That is because the Facets do not possess the limited intelligence of the Aspects. They do not have the capacity to dislike."

Seeing that the discussion seems to be a casual one, Trahearne steps in; "excuse me, General. Has the rescue team for Crusader Apatia been able to set out yet?"

"Yes," General Almorra replies. "They should return by tomorrow. I had been hoping to send Pact Champion Tiffany along with them, but I couldn't locate her."

Trahearne frowns. "That is concerning - Sieran hasn't seen her since the battle yesterday."

The general pauses for a moment. "I can't say that I've seen her since then, either."

"Perhaps she went with Warmaster Forgal?" Efut suggests.

"Yes, perhaps," Trahearne agrees. "I'm afraid we'll have to assume so if we can't find her. Sieran is double-checking the Alseta Zone, but if she's not there we'll just have to manage without her until she and Forgal and Vriré come back with Fiona."

"Personally," General Almorra says, "I'm not too comfortable sending two - or even three - operatives to rescue a single captive from the Flame Legion. There's too much risk of failure, no matter how skilled they are."

Trahearne tenses slightly, recognizing the truth in the general's words. Then he forces himself to relax. But there is an odd tightness in his chest, and energy pooling inside his body - like he should be moving, doing something. "That's concerning," he rather absently decides to say. If his first real mistake cost him those four friends… cost the Pact those four commanders… "what do you think I should have done instead? Or what should I do now?" He vaguely wonders if this is the wrong thing to say. He's supposed to be the impartial one. But Trahearne isn't quite sure he can think in a straight line at the moment. He needs to calm down.

He needs time to think. Time. He doesn't have time. He won't ever have time to think anymore. He is in charge of a war now.

General Almorra is talking, but he isn't quite listening. Something about numbers being more effective than skill.

He should have talked to _somebody_ before sending two Pact Champions off to rescue a third. Forgal had been sure. Vriré hadn't had a problem with it. Fiona had been captured, at risk. He is reminded of the battle at Fort Concordia. For a brief moment he understands it - some insight into Zhaitan - but then it slips away.

_And_ he'd sent the most volatile combination of Champions with no mediator. Except Tiffany. He forces himself to breathe.

"I can't find her, Trahearne," Sieran says, jolting him out of his thoughts. "She's not there."

He glances at her, reminding himself of where he is and who he is talking to. He blinks. "We've decided that she went with Forgal and Vriré," he says after a brief pause. "Until we can do something about that, we just have to focus on the Orrian invasion."

He wishes he was as confident as he sounded.

* * *

"I don't care what you think," Calera says plainly.

"Leave Syska and the males to themselves, Calera," Asprena orders angrily.

"For the record," Orchard says slowly, "Syska is female too."

"And so is Fiona," Calera reminds them. "Females don't hurt other females."

"Syska hasn't drawn blood," Asprena retorts.

"Not personally," Calera snarls.

Asprena lashes her tail. "Things are changing," she says shortly. "Think about what sort of powerful enemies you want to make." She turns to leave. "I won't cover you if Syska comes asking. Do what you will do, Calera."

_Fiona is powerful, too,_ Calera thinks at Asprena. And she doesn't mean magically powerful - the non-Flame magicians don't even know how to combine the Facets - but influentially powerful. Fiona and her God-Dream are trying to fight the dragons, and they have enough power to think it a realistic goal. And, to be fair, Fiona is powerful in the limited magic she _can_ utilize.

Orchard looks at Calera. "Your interpretation of our customs is strange. But that makes you no less responsible for holding to them."

Calera doesn't reply, only stares at Orchard evenly. She isn't at all sure she's doing the right thing. She isn't sure how loyal she is to the customs. She isn't sure of her decision to disrupt Syska's plans. She isn't sure of Fiona. But… despite the uncertainty, despite her aversion to changing things… she feels more averse to leaving things as they are.

Things are changing whether she likes it or not, anyway… and she might as well take control of as many of the parts that affect her as she can.

Syska enters the room and looks around with an air of authority. For a moment, Calera feels a twinge of resentment - Syska has no right to act like she owns the place. But really, she does. Asprena is no good anymore; she's just Syska's lapdog. "Where is the Dreamer?"

Asprena speaks up immediately, as she had said she would. "Calera insists on tending to her wounds."

"Also, what are Dreamers?" Orchard asks innocently. Orchard may not be on Calera's side, but she does dislike Syska. Very few don't; only Asprena and her faction.

Syska turns and stares at Orchard, but Orchard doesn't back down. Eventually, Syska replies, "a grave threat to the stability of the world. They seek to topple the cornerstones of Tyria's existence."

"What cornerstones?" Orchard asks, genuinely curious now.

"If you wish to join those of us who contest the Dreamers, inform me later," Syska says after a long pause. Then, she turns to Calera. "The Dreamer, if you please," she says firmly.

_Why did I think this plan would work?_ Calera wonders. But Fiona isn't awake or healed yet, so it is currently unwise to incur Syska's anger. She turns and leads the mesmer to where Fiona is.

Syska stares at the human for a long while, and Calera wonders what will happen to the human. Fiona serves this Dream-God - he seems absolutely powerless. If Syska decides to kill her - despite being taboo in this situation for males as well as females - Calera doesn't think anything can save Fiona. There is no evidence to the contrary except Fiona's own belief, which - as far as Calera can tell - doesn't include not dying.

But Fiona's own faith isn't shaken by repeated torture. It's all very well to _say_ you're loyal to a person, to the extent of dying for it, or even be tortured for it. But actually _doing_ so is another matter… And Syska _had_ flown into a blind rage when the Dream was mentioned.

_Whoever Syska is and wherever she came from and whatever she wants._ Syska is a stranger - she isn't even Flame Legion. She had come in and manipulated the males and made it like walking on eggshells for the rest of them, and nobody knows why. Not even Fiona.

Calera _hates_ not understanding things. Especially things that might relate to Eda. The Dream and Fiona, she has been able to figure out, bit by bit, and it's a challenge, and she likes it, somehow. But Syska is as much a mystery - a mystery with a violent personality - as the day she arrived, and only Fiona's meager information and Orchard's question about Dreamers had yielded anything at all. _You can tell a lot about a person by their enemies. Syska's enemies are people like Fiona; the Dream's enemies are people like Syska._

"Carry on," Syska says at last.

Calera stares at her for a moment. _More unpredictability._ In the past, she'd chosen her own way and not cared if it lined up with her superiors' orders and made her look submissive, but now she feels like denying Syska on principle. This charr had insulted her to the highest degree yesterday - especially since she was humiliatingly _right_ \- and so Calera is going to change that.

But… part of changing that is healing Fiona. So Calera just nods mutely at Syska.

"Tell me when she wakes," Syska says, and leaves the room.

_Now, __that__ I may not do,_ Calera decides, looking after her. _Not even if she hits me for it._

* * *

Fiona slowly returns to consciousness. The holes in her arms, despite having healed enough through the night that she isn't bleeding - or even still in pain - feel empty. _Duh. They're holes. By definition they're empty._ But it is still odd to feel air touching the inner parts of her arm. It _itches._

Fiona probes blindly at the holes with her other hand, but instead, she feels… cloth? Fiona raises her head to peek at her arm, and sees bandages covering the holes. She wonders who would have done such a thing… unless it was on Syska's orders. _Of course. She wants me healed enough to beat up again._

Fiona glances around, and realizes that she isn't in her cell. She's still in her cleared space in the kitchens. _Huh?_ But she recognizes a break when she sees it. She reaches toward the Dream, thanking it for protecting her and keeping her sane. And then she remembers Deborah; her sister, Risen, controlled by the same force that directs Syska.

She shudders slightly. _Her sister._ Why couldn't things have gone normally, and Forgal died instead? Tiffany had never mentioned _him_ being Risen. She just can't imagine Deborah doing what Syska has been doing. Doing Zhaitan's work. Killing, corrupting, destroying. Fiona hopes that Deborah isn't as… _lucid_ as Syska. Most Risen are mindless beasts.

_But even then._

The horror of Deborah being Risen hadn't been… as vivid until one of them stood over her and made her feel utterly helpless. Now, Fiona mentally cries out toward the Dream, in anguish over her sister's reincarnation as a brainless zombie. _Why? Why would this happen?_

But the Dream _is_ in control, and it _does_ have a purpose. _Couldn't you have a purpose that __doesn't__ include Deborah being controlled by an Elder Dragon? What about not dying in the first place?_

Fiona feels the schism immediately, a rent in her relationship with the Dream, fueled by her angry thoughts, and there is no response. Fiona's frustration slowly ebbs away. If she's purely honest with herself, she's… resentful of the Dream. _Why?_ Fiona mulls this question over for a moment. It's because she wants to know what's going on with her sister, and why. Both sisters - Syska had said that Tiffany was fighting Deborah. The reasons why she wants to know these things are many, but the bottom line is that she _doesn't_ need to know, and being angry with the Dream isn't going to help any.

It doesn't stop her from still being resentful. _That's… good to know about myself, I suppose,_ Fiona decides, unsure of what that means, exactly.

It also doesn't stop her from being in pain over her sister's Risen state. Emotional pain, but no less real. Fiona desperately hopes that Tiffany ends Deborah's suffering soon and quickly.

More than anything, she wants to get out of this Flame camp and get back to where she belongs - with Tiffany, with the Pact. She wants to get back to the communications department and get everything back into shape.

Not for Tiffany; not for the Pact; not for her Wyld Hunt. But so that no more innocents can be corrupted.

_Oh, look, now I understand Tiffany's whole… thing._ Well, she might as well get around to figuring out her situation. Realizing that she is still lying on the ground, she sits up carefully and glances around. She's in the kitchens - not her cell, which is still odd.

Right, her role here is: injured but defiant human female, who endlessly taunts the males into beating her bloody for no reason other than to keep up a good show of strength. And because the Dream wants her to. Fiona suddenly isn't too sure what to think about this, but she is interrupted by Eda.

The cub is hurrying over to her. "Are you okay?"

Fiona blinks at her. "I'm… relatively alright, I guess." She glances at the bandages on her arms again.

"Don't ask her that anymore," Orchard says dismissively. "Her perception of her own state is flawed, and it's gonna get her killed someday."

Fiona lets out a dry laugh. "It's more like, I don't expect to be in anything resembling an okay condition, so I've revised my self-evaluation meter. With 'dead' as average."

"Based on that meter, you're actually right," Calera observes. "On a normal meter, you're lucky to be conscious."

"Where's the sun?"

"Well past its peak," Grania answers softly.

"Is it today or tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow," Calera responds dryly. "And Syska told me to tell her when you woke up." She pauses, and glances toward the door. "Do you want to go back to sleep?"

_She's offering a way out._ Fiona's first instinct is to say no. Her second instinct is to hesitate, because why not? Well, she is supposed to be serving the Dream here, in this place. She realizes that her underlying irritation with the Dream is… impacting her ability to do what the Dream requires of her. She could say no just to prove a point, but Fiona is no fool. She knows that would make it ten times harder to bear whatever it is that Syska has in store for her today. It also might force her to figure out her relationship with the Dream, which is suddenly in doubt - at least, more doubt than it had been since she'd decided to accept her Wyld Hunt.

Calera had been keeping an eye on the door, but now glances back at Fiona expectantly.

Fiona realizes that she'd done many things before: shown emotional reaction, displayed that the decision she is making is hard, been painfully honest - but she'd never hesitated about doing the right thing, no matter how much physical harm it might bring her.

Well. This is the price she pays for being frustrated with the Dream and not working it out. "No," she says firmly. Her mission here is not about _her_ \- it's about the other females. She absolutely cannot… _what, exactly? I've shown plenty of physical weakness, and been emotionally vulnerable._ No - it's _moral_ weakness that she cannot show.

"Are you sure?" Orchard asks skeptically.

Too late. They'd noticed. Fiona sighs. _But then, I'm not trying to pretend to be perfect, or tell them that they have to be._ "_I'm_ not sure," she replies. "But the Dream is." _And doesn't that sum up what it means to be Christian? I don't have to be sure of anything except that the Dream… is.*_

There is a skeptical silence for a moment. Just long enough for Fiona to start feeling that 'I'm not sure' part. Knowing what is coming when Calera goes to get Syska… she shivers slightly, trying not to picture anything.

"Why do you even _listen_ to that Dream-God of yours?" Calera asks eventually, her tone incredulous. "Surely if he was powerful enough to think he could stop the Elder Dragons, he could protect you from… this."

Fiona shakes her head again, searching for the words to explain. "He's… he's got a plan. And he's even working through Syska to heal me." _Heal me so I'm in good enough condition to beat up again, yeah…_

Eda, who'd been looking rather lost for a moment, takes this opportunity to hug Fiona. Fiona hugs her back and pats her on the head.

Calera blinks in surprise. "Syska didn't heal you," she says quietly. "She just allowed it once she found out."

_Oh._ "So it was you, then," Fiona guesses. "Thanks. I… thanks."

"You are a very unusual human."

"Kitten," Eda corrects her, still snuggling in Fiona's arms.

Grania stares.

Fiona's mouth tightens in amusement, but then she sighs. She gently pries Eda's arms from around her, and glances to Calera. "Go. Get Syska." She sighs again, and involuntarily trembles a bit. She closes her eyes for a moment. _The Dream has a plan,_ she reminds herself, _and I'm the most important piece._ Of course, parts of the Dream's plans involve Deborah being a Risen, but Fiona is fairly sure that death isn't in store for her. _What, so, my cooperation is dependent on my agreeing with the Dream on what is a good idea or not?_ Fiona doesn't think she would actually try to get out of it if she thought she'd die, but…

Well. It's all well and good to _talk_ about doing things - go get Syska, yes I'm sure - but actually doing it is another matter. Fiona hopes it won't be too hard. _It already feels like I'm alone,_ she realizes. For a moment, she wonders why - surely the Dream can see that she's still trusting it? Still doing its work, despite, for the first time, being unsure? Then, she realizes that _she_ is the one holding the Dream at a little more distance than before. If she wants to do the Dream's work, she needs the Dream's help. She'd been _offered_ an out. She probably could rescind her decision now, before Calera leaves, if she wants to.

But… she doesn't want to, really. She's confident enough in the Dream that she still serves it faithfully. She just… hopes the price isn't too high for trying to serve the Dream alone.

She realizes that Calera hasn't moved. "Go on." _Before I… lose my nerve? No, I can do this. Go before I allow myself to get distracted… or something._

_Before my faith fails me._ Fiona trembles slightly, closing her eyes briefly. _Please. Help me Jesus._ She clenches her jaw slightly.

"Chill out," Orchard tells her flatly. "Do you know how insane you sound? Take a break!"

Fiona shakes her head again, her breaths coming slightly faster. "I can't. I have to do this." _Please just go get Syska._

"But _why?_" Grania speaks up. "Why do you listen to your God-Dream person?"

"Because," Fiona replies, barely restraining herself from a dismal wail. "Just go. Stop trying to talk me out of it. I _have to_." _For you._ She sends a pleading prayer to the Dream. _Help me please._ She isn't sure what she's asking for. She is acutely aware of the fact that her emotions are far too much involved with this thing with Deborah for her to work it out in the short time she has, especially if she has to keep fending off worried… allies? Friends?

_Please help me._ The Dream is there, in the back of her head, she can feel it there - but that doesn't seem to help. It's like she's separated from it by some deep, dark chasm, and she can't cross it on her own. A deep sense of dread settles over her. She'd asked for help already; only the Dream can get her across this separation.

If it _wants_ her to get across it. _I have to do this __alone__?!_ She tries to reach across herself, pleading, on the edge of panic - but she can't. It's as if she just can't _reach_ that far. _This is part of trust,_ Fiona realizes, dimly, as if from far away. _It wants a separation for a reason, and I have to trust that it'll still take care of me._ She's shaking. _Please,_ she asks, one last time. _Help me._

But if she's doing what the Dream wants her to do, the way the Dream wants her to do it, the Dream will make sure she can. If that means bridging the gap at exactly the right moment, it will be done. If that means making the pain not so bad in the first place, it will be done. If it means giving her different instructions, that will also be done.

But she, Fiona, needs to _trust_ that the right thing will, in fact, be done. This calms her a little. She opens her eyes to see that Calera _still_ hasn't moved. At least she feels a little more secure now, if still far more apprehensive and alone than she had been the other times. "Are you going to go get her or not?"

"I don't want to get Syska," Calera says suddenly. "Somebody else can do it, if you're going to be stubborn."

"Just go already," Fiona says with a groan, putting her face in her hands. She just wants to get it over with already. "Don't give Syska an excuse to hurt you, too."

"What are you _doing?_" Grania asks, appalled. "You're all but asking Syska to torture you, but you're warning Calera against something that she won't even bleed for?"

_So much for avoiding another argument._ "Calera isn't on a mission from my God," Fiona answers slowly. She feels… tired. "She has no reason to risk Syska's anger."

Calera stares at Fiona for a long moment. "Still, no. I'll… I can deal with Syska. She won't draw blood from me. I won't save my own skin so that yours can be shredded. Asprena will be happy to get Syska."

_Well at least __somebody__ is doing it already,_ Fiona notes as Asprena leaves the room. Fiona allows herself a moment to relax, then opens her eyes and takes a deep breath.

There is a moment of silence, and then Eda asks loudly, "is Syska very nasty?"

This draws a smile from Fiona. "Well, I certainly wouldn't make friends with her if I were you."

Eda looks at her seriously. "Well, I won't. I'll have friends of you instead."

"And I'll have friends of you," Fiona returns with a grin.

Calera motions Eda over to her, and the cub hurries over and stands tall behind and to the right of Calera. _That must be something they're taught in the fahrar._

Asprena returns with Syska, who eyes the room coolly. "Calera, why so uncooperative?" she asks.

A cold chill descends on the room. Asprena was the only one who could have told Syska about Calera's disobedience.

Calera raises her head proudly, her ears twitching. But she doesn't say anything. She looks quite regal, Fiona notes, standing there with no defense for her actions and stubbornly, silently daring Syska to contest her. Fiona realizes that is what Calera must see in Fiona herself. _I'm an inspiration to her,_ Fiona realizes. _Which is exactly what the Dream brought me here to be._

Syska's eyes narrow - possibly having noticed the same thing herself. _Oh wait, now she's going to make me plead for mercy,_ Fiona grimaces. _Just to discredit me._ She bites her lip. Today is going to be hard. She takes a deep breath and stands up.

Syska sneers at her. Of all things, Fiona stifles a grin. _I don't care how much you hate me_, she thinks at the disguised Risen. She briefly considers saying it out loud, but she is feeling more cautious now, without the Dream directly communicating with her, and she remains silent.

_Technically, I don't even know what she wants me for. I haven't antagonized her again._ But Fiona knows Syska, and Syska does not need a reason to torture Fiona. Fiona follows Syska out of the room and toward the crowd of male charr. Nervousness returns. She allows - _allows? It's an active decision now?_ \- herself to sense the Dream again. Its mere presence will have to suffice for now.

She glances back, and sees Calera following at a distance, Eda nowhere in sight. _Watching her new friend be tortured __would__ be traumatizing._

Syska pushes her into the ring, and Fiona stumbles slightly. She catches herself, suddenly aware that this is it. Her heart is already beating faster. She forces her hands to remain still.

But nobody does anything. Some of them are glancing at Clawburn, who is staring at Fiona as if considering something. Syska is watching all of them with sharp eyes. _She's testing the males? What for? They've proven a willingness to tear at me._

Fiona _would_ say something, but she doesn't know what's going on. She isn't exactly sure what the Dream wants her to do - or what the Dream is going to do.

But the moments tick by, and Fiona realizes how ridiculous this whole thing is. She takes a breath. "Are we just going to stand here all day?" she asks dryly, putting on a braver show than she feels inside. The dissonance slightly unnerves her; it hadn't been present before.

"_You_ are," Clawburn tells her, nearly growling, "until I say differently."

Fiona is struck, suddenly, by the difference between Clawburn and Syska. Clawburn has always had a reason for what he'd done. Syska had just tormented her for fun. There were even a few instances when Clawburn refused to give in to Fiona's taunting. Once, he had even done it _calmly_, clearly just to prove a point.

Fiona decides that she would much rather be at Clawburn's mercy than Syska's. That does not, of course, mean that she will necessarily listen to his order that she remain where she stands. She takes a single step to the side, staring at Clawburn defiantly.

"Get her," Clawburn says calmly. "Bring her to me."

Kadon leaps over to her and drags her across the ground to Clawburn. He drops her at the centurion's feet and then takes a few steps back. Fiona manages to sit up before Clawburn seizes her and drags her up to his eye-level, where he glares at her. The crowd shifts, charr pushing to see better what their leader will do to the fiery female.

"Do you know what you are doing?" Clawburn hisses at her.

"I'm sure I haven't got the slightest idea," Fiona says dryly. It's also somewhat true. "I know what I'm _doing_. I do _not_ know why you are asking."

Clawburn huffs and drops her on the ground again, but he doesn't say anything. He seems to be thinking.

Fiona manages to land on her feet this time, and she glances around. "No, seriously, I mean it," she says with an impatient sigh. "Are we going to do this or not?"

Clawburn fixes her with an intense stare, but he continues to not speak. _Did some spell come on him? He was talking a minute ago._

"I'll take that as a no," Fiona tells him, and starts walking away, back to the kitchens where she'd been before. She even goes so far as to glare at one of the males standing in her way. He takes a step back, seeming both surprised and nervous.

Behind her, Clawburn roars. He bounds across the ring and pulls her back, throwing her on the ground. "She's going to start another insurrection if she keeps on like this," he snarls. _Well, at least he's committed himself now._ "We need to make an example of her before they all turn against us!" He turns and points at Calera, who is scampering away, having seen everything. "See there!"

The charr roar in agreement, and Clawburn turns on Fiona, who hadn't moved from where Clawburn had thrown her on the ground. She pillows her head in arms and stares up at the menacing charr.

"Insolent female," Clawburn snarls. He kicks her in the stomach hard enough to roll her over. Fiona gasps for air, but she knows how to deal with kicks and punches better than claws. She rolls again and springs to her feet. _If threatening their ideal of a perfect female is what it takes to get them moving, I know how to do that. I am very much a non-typical female._

Clawburn lunges at her, but Fiona dodges; she barrels into his side and knocks him over, and they both go sprawling in the dirt. Clawburn slashes at the first bit of her he can get his claws on; Fiona groans as he drags his claws down her right leg. In return, Fiona crawls over him and grabs onto his horns.

Clawburn tries to stand up, but Fiona hangs on tight. He scratches at her arms, and Fiona rolls away. The crowd is roaring.

And then Kadon gets in on it; he bowls her over, clawing at her arms in a wild frenzy, and Fiona kicks back, sending a knee into his stomach and trying to pull on his ears.

She hears Clawburn shouting over the din; "she might be human, but she's still female!"

Kadon roars as Fiona gets a hand on one of his ears and pulls; he slashes at her arms and back - fortunately, the wounds Clawburn had given her a day or so ago are mostly healed - while Fiona yanks on his ears some more.

Clawburn grabs Fiona's feet, and Kadon clings to her arms, and they pull in opposite directions, stretching her between them. _Oh __great__, this is absolutely fantastic._ They set her on the ground, stretched out, and hold her there until Koltir brings a rope and four stakes, which they use to tie her down.

She can't fight back, her arms and legs tied in position, but adrenaline is still coursing through her. She hadn't had such an involved, no-holds-barred fight since well before she came to Tyria. She snarls at Clawburn in a very charr-like fashion as he approaches.

Clawburn regards her silently for a moment, giving Fiona a chance to calm down a bit, and the fear and sense of helplessness return. She can't move, can't get away. He crouches by her head and slashes claws across her face, leaving scratch marks across both cheeks.

Fiona stiffens, straining against the rope binding her, but she clenches her jaw and doesn't scream. Clawburn scratches her arms, leaving long scrapes from shoulder to wrist, and Fiona's breath catches; she squeezes her eyes shut and grits her teeth against the pain. This is different from standing there and letting him; she's truly helpless now, and reminding herself that she chose to do this doesn't help nearly so much when she can't choose oppositely now.

Clawburn continues slashing and scratching her, and soon her whole body is crisscrossed with cuts, most of which are bleeding badly. The pain dulls as he goes on, and it doesn't bother her much, but she figures that the real goal here is to make her feel weak and useless. The other charr are watching in rapt fascination. Fiona had never felt more like a prize on display, humiliation burning through her.

_Don't they know that this only makes me want to 'rebel' __more__? Who in their right mind would take this and become a meek, obedient servant?_ Eventually her curiosity gets to be too much for her, and she asks, "what are you even _doing?_"

Clawburn looks at her, and for a moment, he doesn't seem angry or threatening. That's all Fiona can tell, because despite being held captive by charr for a week, she still can't read facial expressions. But he seems… softer somehow. Then he growls and says with a snarl, "teaching you a lesson."

Fiona sighs loudly. "It barely _hurts_, you moron. All you're doing is giving me scars for life, and when people ask me about it, I'll be able to tell them that some wacky Flame Centurion thought it would be a good idea to - what - draw lines on me?" She actually slightly doubts it'll leave scars_. It's Koltir's holes I'm more concerned about._

"You assume," Syska says, stepping forward before Clawburn can reply, "that you will have much of a life to do so in. You will die here. Carry on, Centurion."

Clawburn stops. Slowly - deliberately, Fiona thinks - he turns his head to look at Syska.

Kadon bristles. "Don't speak like that to Centurion Clawburn," he snarls as Clawburn rises to his feet.

"Then I'll do it," Syska snaps back, drawing her foci. Fiona stiffens - Syska with her foci is never a good sign. Fiona had been at Syska's mercy many times, but not tied down and no way to escape.

"No!" another voice shrieks.

Fiona turns her head and sees Eda running full-tilt toward her. _Oh no…_

Calera intercepts her and picks her up. She turns to hurry back inside, but Eda tries to wriggle free, shouting over her mother's shoulder, "no! Kitten! No!" She drops to the ground and runs between Calera's legs.

"Eda, no!" Fiona shouts, but the cub doesn't stop.

"Don't hurt Kitten!" Eda runs into the circle, only to be swept aside by Clawburn. Eda tumbles head-over-heels in the dust, but scrambles to her feet and runs back. Kadon roars and slashes with his claws.

Eda yelps in pain, and stumbles over one of the ropes holding Fiona down.

"No!" Fiona gasps, trying to reach for her, but she is still immobilized.

"Don't hurt Kitten, don't hurt Kitten," Eda sobs, curling into a ball as Kadon approaches her again. Fiona twists again, trying to break free; and Calera, hissing and snarling violently, is being restrained by Koltir.

Kadon's claws come down on Eda in a wild swing, and Eda screams in pain. But he'd also broken the rope holding Fiona's right hand. Fiona rolls halfway onto her hands and knees and pulls at the other stake holding her left hand down; it comes out. She stands up and pulls the last two out. She lunges at Kadon, snarling ferociously.

She bowls Kadon over and starts punching his snout repeatedly. Kadon howls in pain, but for a moment no one moves, not even Clawburn. Fiona keeps hitting, not as forcefully as she'd like - she'd been stronger on earth - but he roars as one of his fangs breaks.

Deception - so close and so strong that Fiona can feel it even without her foci - wraps around her. _Syska._ For a moment, nothing happens. Fiona hits Kadon one last time, before all the cuts in her skin flare up, like fire running along lines of gasoline. Fiona gasps in surprise, and then it stings, sharp and painful. It feels like the molecules in the cuts are fighting each other, tearing the wounds open further. Fiona catches her breath and stiffens, but this is a different sort of pain. A stinging pain, unlike anything else she'd felt before.

The sensation spreads to all the cuts, and then it reaches the holes Koltir had left yesterday, not yet fully healed. It feels like being stabbed anew, but slower, more agonizing, more painful, it _stings -_ Fiona lurches to her feet, staggering away from Kadon. Moving helps. Her breath comes in shuddering gasps, and she nearly stumbles over the ropes trailing behind her.

Clawburn regains his composure and faces Syska. "I'll deal with the human," he tells her, his eyes blazing. "Stand down."

Syska stares at him for a long moment. Deception is still working, and Fiona wonders absently what she is doing. Like salt in a wound, it stings. _Salt in the wound? That would be just like Syska…_ Knowing what it is is hardly better than before, but at least it's not a terrifying unknown. Fiona whimpers, squirming, trying to escape it. She collapses on the ground next to Eda, who is still huddling next to the cut rope, trembling in fear.

"Centurion Clawburn gave you an order, female," Kadon snarls, getting to his feet. His nose is bloody. A manic rage burns in his eyes, and alongside the broken fang, he looks terrifying. But Fiona isn't afraid of him. She's more focused on Syska and the Deception anyway.

"Eda," Fiona whispers, her mouth close to the cub's ear. Her voice is trembly, too. "You have to run. Run far away. Kadon can't hurt Syska, and he wants to hurt somebody bad. Run."

Kadon continues with a feral growl, "are you going to listen or not?"

Eda looks at Fiona with tearful eyes. "Where?" she whispers back.

"I… I don't know. Somewhere Calera will find you."

Eda nods and, with the males all distracted, picks herself up and runs, heading back inside. The ground is stained a little red where she had fallen on the ground. Fiona growls at the sight.

Syska glances at Kadon almost leisurely. "I think not," she says finally, and suddenly there are ten of her. Fiona is on her feet already, this time barreling right at Syska, her eyes locked on the real one. Calera is rushing at the disguised mesmer, too, snarling.

Syska turns toward Fiona with eyebrows raised in surprise. The expression only lasts a moment, though. The Deception Syska had put in Fiona solidifies with power and explodes, and Fiona screams, falling to the ground and writhing in pain.

"Subdue her!" Clawburn roars. "She's female too!"

_Glad you finally realized that, Centurion._ Fiona realizes that she's been keeping her thoughts to herself too much. She opens her mouth to say it, in as sarcastic a tone as she can muster, but before she can speak, Kadon - ignoring Clawburn's order to focus on Syska - pounces on Fiona. He whacks her on the head, and the world goes dark

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

Aaand Fiona gets her revenge on Kadon! Mwahaha. For the record, real-life Fiona is _totally_ the firebrand you just saw. She could absolutely compete with charr on this level. Like, we have Clawburn comparing her to the other charr females, and Fiona getting in a rough-and-tumble fight with a Flame Centurion and his second, and it's just - _normal humans can't do this, but Fiona is awesome_.

For the longest time (since, like, mid-book 3), real-life Fiona has been grumbly about her mesmer status. Mesmers are a _caster class_, and therefore weak and vulnerable, and this is completely the opposite of Fiona. These things here are much more in character for her. (For the record, if I were to do it over again, Fiona would be a necromancer. Still a caster-class, but necros are kinda special.)

Also… anybody notice the two charr named Eda and Orchard? I named my kitten Orchard because Orr+charr and so that we could have a Tyria-related, plant-related name without being sylvari-related. (haven't quite figured out what the D stands for yet, haha - maybe 'past tense,' as in, Orr was charred by the charr with their Searing Cauldrons, in an alternate timeline.) And then my younger sister named another kitten Eda, because of Eda's orchard, and completely messed up the point of Orchard's name. And then real-life-kitten Eda died and so, because my little sister is like five years old, I went back and added Eda scenes into _The Unbroken_, and if I'd put in Eda then I had to put in Orchard, so that's that.

And _that_ is the story of how there came to be two characters named 'Eda' in my story, and how it was all purposeful after all, and I suddenly got to thinking how confusing it would be to have older-lady-orchard-Eda show up when I've been talking about little-sweet-charr-cub-Eda all this time. And I forgot and didn't put this note in any chapter that was relevant (any chapter with both Orchard and Eda in it, or the one where Tiffany gets the letter from E) but it did not happen, which was an oversight on my part. But now you know, and it's hilarious and amusing, and I like it.

And no, that is _not_ why older-lady-orchard-Eda died, that was just practical common sense (a thing which is the most important factor in this story far more than it seems like; Eda died because that was how I wrote the scene, and I wrote it that way because it made sense, given the situation and characters involved, and so it's more natural and organic and probably incorporates half-a-dozen behind-the-scenes obscure elements of storytelling and lore that I didn't actually think of but my subconscious _did_, and so they got put in because my subconscious is awesome like that. And half the time when I change these things it ends up creating problems. (No, now I should really carefully tweak this paragraph to be able to hold that last sentence in the last sentence; then it would be a paragraph-long sentence. Or a sentence-long paragraph? Oh well, it's pointless _now._)

Don't forget to leave a review, or use the code HwKw8vy to join the Tassof Friends Discord server! Maybe have some discussion on if Fiona is dead or not.


	16. Chapter 15: Search and Rescue

THE UNBROKEN

* * *

Dedication: _Excuses_. Please believe mine. At least don't be mad at me. (Or… DO be mad at me, give me some motivation to actually meet my deadlines!)

* * *

Chapter fifteen: Search and Rescue

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

Leon has a theory! He thinks Fiona is going to escape by herself and, when people come to rescue her, will just be sitting on a pile of Flame Legion corpses wondering what took them so long.

I'm not saying yes or no to that theory; but for the record, if the Dream told Fiona to do that, she would certainly make a very good try at it (…but she doesn't have her foci…).

For the record, just in case, 'Kadon' is pronounced 'KAY-don,' not 'ka-DON.' Falcon has also got into the habit of saying Calera with an 's,' as if I adapted her name from celery or something. _The 'c' makes a 'k' sound_.

And. Very sorry, again. I had to take a mandatory three-day break from my computer. Nobody except me and the people who read this know my deadlines and how horribly behind I am, so they don't realize that packing me off to go swimming is _not_ a good thing right now. (Also, I didn't have my priorities sorted out enough to inform them of this. I still don't, but as there are no vacations looming in my near future, I feel no obligation to do so. This is me trying to act like somebody on a TV show and be utterly selfish. This is what happens when I visit people whose idea of a good three days is to go swimming and watch TV, with a couple slices of board games on the side. Nobody understands the art and craft of writing anymore. Or the art and craft of _leaving the people who do understand it __alone__ so that they can do things they actually enjoy instead of, like, dragging them off on useless vacations._ By the second day I was worrying and stressing about writing the story (for the sake of writing the story) but I couldn't, because my laptop is immobile (and yes that's counterintuitive BUT STILL - it's broken) and it would be rude to bring it along anyway. Probably. You don't know my grandparents (and to be honest, I don't really either.)

Now - after a refreshing dose of how weird I can be (and that last paragraph _was_ me being weird, regardless of the subject matter or the specific things said, given the way I rambled all over the place about things largely irrelevant to the story or the deadlines) that has been missing from my author's notes for a while - it's storytime.

Oh! Almost forgot to mention. This chapter is ten thousand words long - usually I have seven thousand words per chapter (or about that much). SO BONUS for waiting so nicely. (Really… that's because I expanded the existing stuff so much… because apparently 'ready to post' doesn't mean anything to my perfectionist brain.)

_**Okay, here's the story now:**_

* * *

Fiona wakes up with her head throbbing painfully. Syska's tormenting Deception is gone, and her wounds are well on their way to healing, although she is now sure all the cuts will leave scars.

She is mildly surprised to find herself in her cell, and not in the kitchens surrounded by the other females, who had mostly come to like her.

She carefully peeks at the holes Koltir had left. They aren't closing up like her other wounds had by this point, but they had stopped bleeding long ago. _Maybe it's too deep of a wound for passive Protection to heal on its own. Good luck finding enough time to rest up sufficiently to try healing it._

Fiona is still alone, so she turns her attention to the Dream and the separation between them. She can almost feel her own emotion regarding Deborah, come between her and the Dream. She _wants_ to trust it. She doesn't like this gap.

She realizes, suddenly, that this isn't about the logic of what the Dream's plan is for Deborah, or Tiffany. It's about Fiona, and her own trust in the Dream. Fiona is aware, all at once, that all she has to do is throw herself into the Dream, trust it wholeheartedly despite her worry over Deborah, and this odd separation will close up.

But… she feels an odd aversion to doing this. She pokes this feeling and realizes that it is because she is afraid to leave her fears behind. _Why? Isn't that part of the whole point?_

Well. Whatever she is afraid will happen from leaving her concerns about Deborah, it can't be too bad, with the Dream watching over her. Fiona will just have to power through the fear, make a leap of faith. She knows - she can just tell - that this fear is a wall she has to break through, and on the other side the Dream is waiting for her.

Well. She'd broken through plenty of physical walls before. Now it's time for metaphorical ones. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and surrenders the fear - _it's really the fear I was clinging to, not Deborah_ \- and falls into the Dream's embrace.

She'd thought it would get easier. But it's not - she struggles to retain the state of mind of relinquishing control, but it slips and wobbles, and she can feel herself drifting away from the Dream again. Incrementally - it's not the gaping chasm it was before - but just the same, she doesn't like it.

_Help me,_ she pleads. _Don't leave - please don't leave - I need you - help me, please._ For a moment, there is relative peace. The fear feels like it's outside her mind, just trying to get in, but she's forced it out now.

But then she's alone again, trapped inside her mind, the fear trying to get in - the Dream vanished, where'd it go? For a moment, Fiona is confused and afraid - she doesn't know what's going on - and she's back on the other side of the chasm, the fear hovering right next to her.

She flees, she runs from it, jumps across the chasm toward the Dream. She falls short and begins plummeting, but the Dream catches her.

Fiona turns to glance back at the fear; she trembles violently and turns back to the Dream. _Don't look at the fear,_ she tells herself, _don't look, just don't_ \- she focuses on the Dream instead.

The fear and the panic melts away, and it's just her and the Dream. _Don't think about the fear. Focus on the Dream._ But this is also hard; it just is. _I can't do this forever. Not when the charr come back._

No. Don't think about that. Focus on the Dream. _Help me,_ she whispers. _I can't do this alone._

And the Dream does something; Fiona doesn't know what - but suddenly the difficulty disappears, and it's just herself and the Dream, and the fear is a fading memory. It's still there, she knows, but she doesn't have to pay it any attention.

_Thank you,_ she tells the Dream, and then she opens her eyes and she is back in her cell. There's the fear, on the outskirts of her mind, and the Dream in the center, filling her with itself. For a moment Fiona wavers, momentarily attracted to the fear, the darkness, really, but she whispers _help me_ in her mind, and the Dream wraps around her like a shield.

_Have I ever told you how much I love you?_ Fiona asks fiercely.

* * *

After explaining the situation more fully to Tiffany, the ranger and her companion head to Cassie's moa ranch - the last place the Risen had been seen. The Seraph hadn't talked to her since right after the incident happened, and she had been distraught and rather difficult to talk to. Tiffany hopes to get more information out of her now.

"Cassie," Tiffany calls as she approaches the ranch with Beorn. Cassie turns toward her and sighs in relief on seeing who it is.

"Tiffany, right?" Cassie checks, glancing over her shoulder nervously. "You fought all those bandits. Can… can you fight… Risen?" She whispers the word quickly, as if hoping nobody will hear.

"I'm looking for them," Tiffany replies grimly. "Why do you ask?"

Cassie glances over her shoulder again. "One… one of them came through the other day," she says, wringing her hands. "She had two children with her, and… and…" she falls into silence and shakes her head.

"You'll have to forgive Cassie," a voice breaks in. Tiffany glances over to see a man standing protectively behind Cassie. "That Risen roughed her up some, gave us all a right good scare."

"She was here?" Tiffany asks, surprised. "She didn't…"

"Kill us? Nah," the man says, frowning. "Can't imagine why not, though. Just told us she was going south, then she left. Those two kids with her, though…"

"That's why I have to find her," Tiffany tells him. "Don't worry, I'll save them. Go to Shaemoor and tell Richard Sartini or Petra Tassof if you see her again."

"We will," the man assures her. "Now go! Those kids are in danger."

"She went up the hill over there." Cassie says quietly, and gestures to a slope just to the west of the ranch. At a surprised look from her friend, she adds, "I didn't think to mention it before. I wasn't thinking straight."

"Perfectly understandable," Tiffany assures her. "Thank you for the information." She hurries toward the hill Cassie had pointed out. A small path coming from the north leads up the side and past a tiny house. Past it, there is a pass separating the Bandithaunt Caverns from the mountain range the Divinity Dam is built into.

Near the end of the day - and the narrow ravine - Tiffany finds several Risen ettins. She quickly kills them, then hastens onward. What other random creatures had been turned into Risen to terrorize Shaemoor?

The ravine narrows, and soon becomes a tunnel. The tunnel proves to be relatively short, and it opens out just northwest of Claypool.

Tiffany goes into the town to see if there are any signs of Deborah, and finds the Seraph alert and ready. Speaking with one of the townspeople, it seems Deborah had ambushed a caravan on the way to the village. The then-Risen caravan had caused much havoc, during which Deborah had escaped south with Mat and Ayla. She'd been spotted, of course, but nobody could stop them right then.

As the sun is setting, Tiffany decides to stay in Claypool for the night.

The next morning, Tiffany is up early and hurrying along the southern road, which leads through a narrow pass to Fort Salma. However, it dead-ends into a closed gate. The guards shout from the walls at her to leave, and Tiffany calls back, asking if a Risen had been this way.

"The only one that we saw went east," they tell her.

Tiffany nods and turns away, heading east. Greyhoof Camp - once a centaur base, now retaken by the Seraph - comes into view. It is, she notes, being turned back into the peaceful settlement it had once been, populated by civilians now instead of soldiers. It does have Seraph, but in the capacity of police, not the army.

The people at Greyhoof Camp - they'd renamed it Defiance, because of the centaurs - tell her that the Risen with two children had gone east.

Tiffany is getting rather irritated at the fact that all these towns with perfectly capable Seraph can't stop a single Risen. She might have to find DeGlasse and tell him this story, maybe the Seraph trainer will come and give his soldiers a talking-to.

Much father south, she finds what had once been a simple, temporary camp named Barnaby's Watch had been turned into a stronger Seraph settlement during the last month or so of the Centaur War. They tell her, however, that they had seen no Risen.

Given that Deborah had seemingly taken some pains to be noticed in each town - she'd specifically informed Cassie of where she was going - her absence here is odd.

Tiffany stays the night there, then backtracks, looking for other signs. Quarryside, the mining settlement south and west of Barnaby's Watch, hasn't seen her either. Further west, Tiffany passes the Gap Waypoint. South of it, there is a path leading west, which Tiffany follows. Just north of it's exit from a ravine is a former bandit camp. Tiffany remembers clearing this one out with Fiona - it still bears all the signs of a battle. Nobody had returned.

Wondering if, perhaps, Deborah had left a more normal message, Tiffany searches through the ruins of the outpost, but comes up empty. Deborah hadn't been here.

Tiffany heads south, but all she finds is the Viathan Waypoint and a channel of water. But Triskell Quay is not far west of here - Deborah might have swum there.

At Triskell Quay, there is still no sign of Deborah. Tiffany stays the night there before returning to Gap Waypoint. Heading west of there once more, the only path branching off the road that she finds before the town Defiance is the one leading to the abandoned bandit hideout. Somewhere between Barnaby's Watch and Defiance, Deborah had disappeared.

It is Tiffany's job to find her - she just hopes she doesn't also have to kill Risen versions of Mat and Ayla, too.

* * *

After a minute, Fiona turns her attention to her immediate situation. Syska had finally found herself on the receiving end of the anger of the male charr. Fiona doesn't know what had happened to her - nor what is _likely_ to have happened to her - but it feels significant to her. _Was that why I was here?_ she asks the Dream._ To get Syska in trouble with the males?_

This guess is confirmed - echoed in the Dream's mind - and for a moment Fiona is elated, but… something feels off. Like there's more to do. _Escape?_ she asks the Dream hopefully, and this guess is also correct. But Fiona gets the feeling that this is a plan for the near future - not an immediate course of action. _Will I escape before Syska - or the other charr - get to me again?_

This guess uncovers something that Fiona had not yet felt from the Dream. It is a smoldering fury - no, a protective anger, directed at those who had harmed her. Behind further guesses, Fiona can tell, lie plans for their downfall. It is accompanied by undertones of rock-solid confidence, like a hard core of certainty. _Power._

These emotions - simple, yet complex - overwhelm Fiona. The Dream loves her, cares for her, is concerned for her welfare. Like a father protecting his child. Like a mother defending her daughter. Like a creator looking after his creation. The message is - _trust me._

For a moment, Fiona is stunned by the strength and intensity of the Dream's emotion. Until now, she had never really seen it as an emotional being in and of itself. This, however - this _humanizes_ the Dream, for lack of a better term - and _she_ is the center of this storm of emotion. Controlled storm, to be sure, and frightening, but also… calming. She is in the eye of the storm, protected, shielded within and without from her enemies.

Fiona feels suddenly inadequate. She does not love the Dream with this passionate fury. Her efforts are feeble attempts to carry out the Dream's will. Like a butterfly flapping in a hurricane.

But she finds herself not withdrawing her mind from this hurricane. She has more to do. The Dream will guide her, and she will get to know it better, as she had during the last week already.

She smiles and refocuses on her current situation. She's going to escape soon. She _has_ to escape, tell the Pact about Syska - hopefully she hasn't decimated it by now. Fiona realizes suddenly how cut off from the outside world she is here. She has _no idea_ what is happening.

Fiona can't help but be anxious over the Pact. Its success, and therefore Tiffany's success, depend on her and Syska. The orb-key Syska had mentioned - Fiona doesn't dare assume that Syska was just lying, or even fudging the truth.

Fiona trembles slightly. The Dream had not taken her emotions concerning Deborah; only dissociated the blame, healing the chasm between them. Fiona does not like to think of Syska - it reminds her of Deborah, who is likely doing the same despicable things as Syska.

_It could just as easily have been Deborah that came here and tormented me,_ Fiona realizes with a shudder. _Maybe she __is__ tormenting Tiffany._

The Dream steps in, reminding her to _trust in the Lord with all thine heart, and lean not unto thine own understanding._

_But I __am__ trusting,_ Fiona thinks back._ I'm just also worrying._ There really is no need to worry, since everything will turn out okay, but Fiona can't help it.

But though it worries her, she tries to put it out of her mind and focus on something else - which, in the cell with nothing else to do, means planning her escape, now that she knows it will happen. _Pray like it's all up to God; work like it's all up to you._

She'll need her foci, and she decides she should wait as long as she can to let her wounds heal before she tries to escape. _Maybe I can figure out Protection in the meantime. And maybe the females will let me borrow some supplies in case there aren't any allies close by. Didn't Kadon say east was the wrong direction?_ She knows north and south just lead to more Brand, so she decides to head west.

A door bangs further up the corridor, and Fiona looks up to see Calera.

"You're awake!" Calera exclaims as she hurries toward Fiona.

"Yep," Fiona replies. "What's the situation with Syska?"

"I can't stay long," Calera says anxiously. "The males attacked her, but she got away, swearing to tell the Allied Legions where we're hiding. The males would love to kill you, but even the males have taboos against killing defenseless, 'weak' females. I think they're going to leave you here to starve like they were initially planning. They're more worried about Syska, and have been working us extra hard to pack up and get out of here."

"That can only be a good thing," Fiona answers. "How long do you suppose there is before you start moving?"

"Early morning on the forty-ninth."

"Five days?" Fiona asks in surprise. "It'll take that long?"

"To remove all trace of our having been here and figure out how to move without leaving a trail? Yeah," Calera replies. "We may have to move sooner if a sufficient force comes to attack. Is there anything you need before I go? Asprena's been even nastier today, and I'm not sure you can come up without her telling on you."

"It's okay," Fiona says slowly. "The Dream says I'm going to escape soon - and no more being the plaything of my captors - so I'll be fine down here. If you can find a way to get to my foci and bring them to me - or get me in to where they're kept - that would be awesome. Other than that, I don't think so."

"And food," Calera reminds her. "I won't have the time to get into the weapons' storage room, though."

"I can do that, just let me out of here if you can get the key," Fiona replies.

"Don't worry, I'll do my best," Calera promises, and disappears down the corridor.

For a moment, Fiona ponders what to do. _If I'm going to be sitting here and not exerting myself a whole lot, I might as well try to do Protection,_ she reasons. The holes in her arm aren't too debilitating, but they are distracting, and if they heal as they are she isn't sure she won't have holes in her arm forever.

So, sitting on the edge of the cot, she unwinds the bandages that had been applied a few days before.

Fiona frowns, searching all her knowledge of how to use magic. She'd first made an illusion on accident, when she was seven, fueled by the emotion surrounding Deborah's first 'death' - grief and loss and, specifically, she was in denial, because there was no way Deborah could be dead. And so, of course, an illusory Deborah had popped up in the living room, and scared Petra out of her mind. After she'd learned to use it, wielding Deception was more a matter of desire and know-how than anything else.

And there was the first time she'd used Protection - fueled by panic about Eir's imminent demise. After that - now that she'd made the shield once - she could do it again, by desire and knowing how.

But Fiona had never healed before, and she hadn't studied how. Her areas of study had been centered on the five senses and Deception, not overall biology and how Protection interacts with the body.

So, emotion rules the day. The urge to protect had driven her to make the shield, and the desperate denial had driven her to make an illusion of Deborah. But healing is more of a… caring thing. Protecting from _further_ injury. _Does anger count? Like being angry at the person who did it?_ That might work. _But that's all for healing other people. Feeling pain may have triggered the passive healing, but for this?_ Fiona blinks as she realizes that she doesn't know Protection's personality. Deception likes her when she's being tricky and deceptive; but the only time she had tried to Deceive herself was complicated and had the end result of Deceiving her enemy.

_So... I need to heal myself for the end result of Protecting? Is that even viable for most situations? I just don't know if Protection includes the wielder or not, or if it's strictly a selfless thing_.

But the concept of anger at an enemy that had wounded her seems like the first thing to try.

First, Fiona summons the shield, in case Protection needs a warm-up. She might not even be powerful enough to heal herself in an active spell, but she can try. She lets the shield fade out, then carefully ponders Koltir. He had wanted her to scream.

But Fiona isn't angry at Koltir; he'd just been a pawn in Syska's game. Now, _Syska_…. Fiona is angry at Syska. Syska had brought her here and encouraged the males to torture her. Besides this, Syska had sowed doubt and uncertainty and suspicion among the Orders - as if there hadn't already been enough. Syska had caused all the deaths - especially the Spar Warband, even if they didn't rise. Syska has the orb that stopped them from rising, and this orb's absence will cause the fall of the Pact, if what she had said is true. And Syska is an example of the minions of Zhaitan, a category that now includes Deborah. Fiona breathes a huff of anger for Deborah; but she has to focus on Syska.

Fiona frowns. Nothing's happening; no magical healing. Not even a glow of blue around her fingertips. Maybe she'd got it wrong? _But I say unto you, to love your enemies, and do good to them who hate you, bless those who curse you, and pray for those who despitefully use you._

Fiona blinks. _But that can't apply to Syska!_ she protests. _She's a minion of Zhaitan, who serves Satan - the whole idea of being kind to your enemies is to 'heap coals of fire on their heads'*- as in, shame - I don't think she __can__ feel shame._

"Fiona! Are you alright?" comes Grania's voice.

"No! Not now," Fiona hisses, holding up a hand.

_Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamour, and evil speaking, be put away from you, with all malice. _

_Let not mercy and truth forsake thee: bind them about thy neck; write them upon the table of thine heart: so shalt thou find favor and good understanding in the sight of God and man._

Fiona knows what the Dream is telling her to do - to love Syska, or at the very least not hate her. The concept seems foreign to Fiona. Syska is a very personal enemy of hers; Fiona can't just turn on a dime and love her!

Fiona pauses as she realizes she had before - every time she felt emotion through or from the Dream. Uncertainty flickers through her mind; would that work? Does she want it to work?

_Okay,_ she thinks at the Dream before she changes her mind. Nevertheless, she hesitates a moment._ I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me._

The message strengthens her resolve, and she closes her eyes and _guesses_ at the Dream, that it is feeling love for Syska. It is a hesitant guess, a weak one, apprehensive. She trembles slightly as she senses the love; but it is a reserved feeling, slightly muted. She doesn't quite feel it herself, beyond a terribly strong confirmation of her guess. Rather, she feels overwhelmed and insignificant - not as if she were a butterfly in a hurricane, like earlier, but like she is standing before a whirlwind - like she is _facing up against_ a whirlwind, perhaps.

She feels a tug, a pull, to join the Dream in this feeling; Fiona knows all she has to do is step into the whirlwind and join it, and she feels drawn into it already, but for some reason she hesitates. It is so strong, she feels as if she might be blown away by its ferocity, the rest of her drowned out in the passion of it.

As she thinks it, of course, she realizes that will not happen; she'll be safe, the Dream will protect her. From _what_, exactly, since the Dream _is_ the whirlwind, she isn't quite sure, but she knows it nonetheless.

She doesn't really want to put away her anger at Syska; she still feels… entitled. To anger itself, perhaps? Fiona doesn't terribly feel like exacting revenge on Syska - which, perhaps, is the effect of standing so close to a source of overpowering love - but she feels like she _should_ be allowed to be angry at her, at least. _This is like the fear with Deborah earlier,_ she realizes.

And so, of course, she has to let it go; and stepping into the whirlwind, she is confident, will strip it away from her - more quickly and absolutely than the ordeal with the fear earlier was.

But she doesn't want to. She wants to be angry at Syska for the sake of being angry at Syska; and this, of course, is absurd. _Just jump before the anger turns into its own mini-whirlwind that I can't control!_ she shouts to herself. She draws on all the recklessness she has, throws her misguided caution to the wind, and jumps.

She is spun around and around; images flash through her head - memories, her own memories. All the times she'd lost her own self-control and hurt a sibling; all the times she'd killed in self-defense, or in the defense of another; all the times, overcome by her own pride, she thrown insults and sneered and lied and belittled another in an attempt to shield her own ego.

Syska, who had done the same.

The whirlwind releases her, flings her back to solid ground, and Fiona is gasping for breath - for a perspective, really, from which to view this information. She can't process it. She knows what it is - she knows what it means…

Syska is trapped, imprisoned, unable to fight against the corruption. But this detail, suddenly, insignificant. Even if she hadn't - if it was simply some misguided mesmer with Flame connections - Fiona would still be able to love her. All Syska had done was hurt her physically. Spiritually, Fiona had grown much stronger.

The whirlwind _had_ taken her anger and replaced it with love - and it feels _natural_. _For with God nothing shall be impossible._

And now, to release her from Zhaitan's prison. Filled with determination, Fiona looks up to figure out what to do next. She is confronted with Grania's worried-looking face.

"Are you alright?" Grania repeats.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine," Fiona says quickly.

"What was that?" Grania asks.

"I was talking to the Dream," Fiona explains.

"But… he's not here," Grania says, confused.

"Well, he can't really if he's a dream," Fiona reasons. "It's a mind-talk. Why are you down here? Calera said you were preparing to move."

"Yeah, I know," Grania says quietly. "But Asprena sent me away because I wasn't being very helpful. Calera said you were going to escape, so I wanted to come see you."

"I'm not leaving quite yet," Fiona assures her. "I actually don't know when quite yet."

"Why don't you ask the Dream?" Grania asks curiously.

"Okay," Fiona agrees bemusedly. _Dream? When exactly am I going to escape?_ She frowns at the feeling the Dream sends her; a rather vague, maybe-perhaps kind of feeling. "It depends," she tells Grania, who opens her mouth to ask another question. "On something it won't tell me," Fiona adds. "Perhaps what my definition of 'escape' is. Or the steps I take to get there. Or a butterfly flapping its wings in Kryta."

"What?"

"It's a saying," Fiona explains. "It's called the butterfly effect, because a butterfly flapping its wings in one place could cause a hurricane somewhere else, because of wind currents and the way the air mixes together and stuff, or something. So a butterfly flapping its wings in Kryta might make for a semi-stronger wind right here than otherwise, and some Flame shaman's wind magic might need a little bit more power to control it, and so he doesn't have the necessary power to cast a different spell later, so the males have to find somebody else to cast it, and then since that person is busy casting, he isn't watching to see me escape, and so I get away. _Or_, the butterfly doesn't flap its wings, and so the guy _is_ watching to see me escape, and so he catches me, and that would be part of the plan. Or the Dream would just tell me not to go right then and wait until later, which is how the answer to the question 'when' could depend on a butterfly flapping its wings in Kryta."

Grania blinks. "Wow. And the Dream knows all the butterflies? And it will tell you when it's safe to escape?"

"Yep," Fiona says cheerfully.

Grania heaves a depressed sigh. "It won't be the same without you."

"Well… you and the others can come with me if you like," Fiona offers.

"Really?" Grania asks, her eyes lighting up. "What's it like where you live? Would I have to learn to fight?"

"You could absolutely learn to fight if you wanted to," Fiona says with a smile. "And tell Calera and the others that, too."

Grania frowns. "But won't that make it harder for the Dream to predict butterflies? If there's a lot of us and all the things that could go wrong."

Fiona smiles. "No, the Dream is very good at this. It predicts all the butterflies everywhere all over the world, even in the cities with lots of people."

Grania nods. "Okay. But do I _have_ to learn to fight?"

Fiona blinks in surprise, but replies easily, "you won't have to. Only some of us fight. Some of us mostly study things to figure out how they work and what would make most sense for what to do next. Some of us go sneaking around and spying on the Risen and stuff. Or you could not be involved at all and go live in Lion's Arch."

Grania sighs dreamily. "I've always wanted to learn to read."

"Well, you're certainly very smart," Fiona says with a grin, thinking of how quickly she'd grasped the concept of butterflies. "You'll get a chance to learn to read, I promise. You can be my student. Technically I'm one of the people who reads, but its more like I go exploring lost places to find things for other people to read… but I can still teach you."

"Well, let's get working on it, then!" Grania says excitedly. "What stuff will you need to escape?"

"Talk to Calera, she's already working on it," Fiona instructs her. "And - "

"_Grania!_" Asprena shouts, her voice echoing down the stairway.

"I gotta go," Grania whispers frantically. "See you later!" she adds as she scampers away.

* * *

As the day wears on, Fiona finds herself bored. She even dozes off a few times - which is probably good, as it bolsters her passive self-healing.

Finally, near nightfall, Calera appears with a Flame key. She seems exhausted.

"Is Asprena really working you that hard?" Fiona asks in concern.

"It's not Asprena," Calera sighs, unlocking Fiona's cell. "It's the males. They're super anxious. One of them was even worrying about portals getting her to move faster."

"That's how I got here," Fiona points out, following Calera toward the kitchens. "Syska portaled me up from near Orr."

"Near where?" Calera asks, glancing back.

Fiona blinks. "You don't know about Orr?"

Calera huffs. "I don't know about anything. The males don't teach us stuff."

"Right," Fiona grimaces. "Well, what do you know? Shiverpeaks? Kryta?"

"I know the _names_," Calera sighs, "which is better than this Orr place, but I don't know anything else."

"Well, it's super far away," Fiona confides. "Oh, and did Grania tell you? If you want, you can come with me when I escape."

Calera blinks. "What?" she asks uncomprehendingly. "Escape? With you? I don't - but I - Fiona, you - I mean, I - ugh, you can't just spring this on me without any warning! I have an injured, terrified cub to look after - " she sighs. "I found her hiding in the far end of the row of cells, past the corner. It was a traumatic experience for her."

"I can imagine," Fiona says with a wry smile. "If I was you, I'd take her and get out of here, but that's just me. You probably have a few days to decide, but the Dream could give me the go-ahead at any time."

"I… I'll let you know," Calera says with a grimace. She pauses by the door. "Get your foci, and _don't be seen._ If they suspect anyone let you out, they'll tear the place down to find out who stole this key. It's probably been missed already."

"I'll be careful," Fiona promises. "You should put the key back if you can," she adds, before turning away.

Fiona creeps up the rough stairway - more like a ramp - that leads to the surface, and peers out at the camp carefully. The combination of dusk and the clouds that hang permanently over the Dragonbrand make the camp look dark and foreboding.

The storage room is around behind the small building the ramp lets out in, and Fiona can't see it from here. She'll just have to hope there are no males back there. But Fiona had always been risky, so hurries around to where the storage room - really just a hut or shed - is, but finds it locked with magic, just like her cell. _I should have taken Calera's key with me._

Footsteps sound around the corner. Fiona's heart leaps in her chest, and she slips around the back of the shed and waits breathlessly as the footsteps come closer. It seems like all the males are passing by.

"Have your scouts reported back about Syska?" Clawburn asks.

_Please don't let any of them wield Deception please don't let any of them wield Deception please -_

"No, sir," Koltir's voice replies, coming closer. "She didn't leave a trace. They think she used portals."

Clawburn growls. "Tell the females to hurry up. We don't have forever."

"They're already going as fast as they can, sir."

"Make them go faster!" Clawburn snaps. The door of the shed rattles. "Clodian, why don't I have the key?"

Light flares around the corner, and a new voice says, "it's open, Centurion. And I'll make a new key for you, if you're sure you've lost the other. Did you give it to that female?"

"She brought it back, and that was yesterday," Clawburn replies dismissively. Fiona hears the noises of him moving around inside the shed. "Koltir, I want eyes on all the Allied Legions' outposts that are near here. I want instant notification if enemy movement or Syska is spotted. Clodian, get on with making that replacement. Have it done by nightfall. Leave the door unlocked for now."

"Yes, sir," Koltir says.

"Sir, I can't both make the key and help with moving."

Clawburn snarls. The door slams shut. "Fine. We can leave it unlocked for a few days. Now," Clawburn says, his voice getting further away now, "Kadon, what have you found out about places we could move to?"

"There's nothing else in the Dragonbrand," Kadon replies, sounding relieved. "I think we're going to have to take up the dredge on their offer."

Clawburn snarls. "It's too dangerous. The Allied Legions are all over between here and wherever Vyacheslav's holed up. I don't trust them anyway. I'm with Tribune Greetsglory - we're Flame Legion, and we can make our own way." His voice isn't getting fainter. They must have stopped - right outside the entrance back underground.

"But, sir, for a temporary - "

"_This_ place was supposed to be temporary!" Clawburn snaps back. "And we can't even _get there_. When was the last time we heard from them, anyway? That offer was made half a Season ago. They might not be so willing - or able - anymore. Just forget it. I'm not moving _closer_ to the Black Citadel."

Kadon grumbles, but doesn't protest any more.

After a few seconds of silence, Fiona peeks around the corner to see if the charr are gone, and finds herself looking straight into the eyes of Clawburn.

She freezes, her heart racing.

Clawburn stares at her for a long moment. "You're too stubborn for your own good," he says finally.

"Yeah," Fiona replies faintly.

"Even your Protection is stubborn," he muses. "Not surprising."

Fiona's eyes widen. _That's_ how he'd known she was here. She underestimates her own magic sometimes. _Also… Clawburn is a guardian? What?_ "I'll… keep that in mind." A rather skillful guardian, at that - it's extremely hard to sense temperament in the magic of an individual person's Aspect. Fiona herself can't sense another person's magic's temperament, even if it's Deception.

Clawburn stares at her for a moment longer. "Don't be seen," he says finally, and turns away. Leaving her.

Fiona stares after him for a moment, shocked, trying to process this. "What?" she blurts out.

Clawburn turns and fixes her with a glare. "You're Syska's prisoner. She's gone and I don't have the time or resources to keep you here. _Get_. But don't disrupt my warbands, or I _will_ kill you." Then, he turns and leaves for good.

Fiona stares after him for a long while. _That charr is far too complicated for me._

Fiona watches him leave, still unable to comprehend that _Clawburn_ had just walked away and let her go free. _Why didn't he just kill me __now__?_ But Calera had mentioned the Flame custom of not killing helpless females, and Clawburn seems rather traditional. _How in Tyria do I know that?_ Fiona wonders. But it feels right.

She glances in the direction Clawburn had gone in - despite not saying so, their conversation had felt remarkably like _permission_ to break into the weapons' storage room and escape - then slips through the now-unlocked door and closes it carefully behind her. She blinks in the darkness and waits until her eyes adjust to the gloom. Grey shapes against blacker darkness surround her, and Fiona wonders for a moment how she will find her foci.

She glances around for a moment, then carefully summons the blue shield around her finger. It provides a small amount of blue-tinted light, and she picks her way across the floor carefully, wary of any stray equipment that could make a loud noise. She points the tiny flashlight at any shape that seems like her staff or blade or signet ring, and eventually she finds them, tossed in a corner. Fiona hesitates before touching the staff. If there _are_ any Deception wielders here, her chance of discovery goes sky-high if she amplifies her own ability through the staff, even for hiding. Well. If she's discovered, she'll fight her way free. Clawburn's threat of death matters little to her if she has her foci. _But I'm waiting for the Dream's go-ahead, so I should still try to avoid that outcome._

She won't be able to hide her possession of the foci, she won't be able to hide the absence of them from this shed, and she won't be able to heal herself with the ring.

Fiona touches the staff, letting her sixth sense expand. The camp is small enough that she should be able to sense any other Deception users.

Fiona pulls her hand away with a gasp. The Flame magic shows up on her sixth sense. That's not the Aspect of Fire - it's not even Protection fire - it's something totally different.

Flame magic is on the lock to this door, it's on all the cell doors. _What magic __is__ it?_ she wonders, touching her focus again. _It's not an Aspect I'm familiar with, but it is the same kind of magic…_ Fiona's eyes widen as she realizes what it is. It's _Facets_, the fragments of magic that _make up_ the Aspects. _Flame shamans cast spells by manually combining them into new spells for each and every magical endeavor!_ Normal magic is Aspects or Facets, and _sometimes_ using Facets in separate spells that work together, but this is different. Mixing Facets - making something new entirely - Fiona hadn't even known it was possible.

'_Flame' isn't fire, it's a very, very uncanny affinity for the magic system._ The Flame Legion can combine cross-Aspect Facets to achieve nearly any effect with magic._ Charr as a race must be __ancient__ to know how to do this. How long have the Flame Legion been fighting the Allied Legions - and not losing until Tiffany got Destiny's Edge and Zojja's golem to crush the Citadel of Flame?_ The Flame Legion don't let their females fight the way the other three Legions do - Flame is up against six times their own manpower! Fiona doesn't know how long this inter-Legion war had been going on for, but she doesn't think it is recent.

But if the Flame legion has this level of magical aptitude… why was Clawburn a strong - well-trained - guardian with the Aspect of Protection? The tactic of combining Facets is much more powerful than the Aspects.

Fiona can't be sure that there are no Deception wielders among the Flame - not if there are charr here that are more involved with Protection than she is with Deception, even if she can't figure out why. Aspects are severely limited, compared to this technique. _No wonder the Flame are so proud. They know they can easily best our magic - and their everyday magic __does__ work well with machines._

Fiona suddenly does not want to have to kill them. All of their magical knowledge will be lost if the Flame Legion are wiped out. _They're like an endangered species now._ The other Legions can't see it, because they don't like magic, but now, Fiona sympathizes with their plight.

Regardless, however, she has to escape, and her presence won't be betrayed by _having_ her foci - only by their disappearance being noted. And if Clawburn is trying to focus on getting away before Syska returns, he can order the others to ignore it.

Fiona takes the two foci and slips the signet ring into a pocket. The chances of them finding her foci missing are low in the first place, and she can hide them somewhere without Deception. It's just… riskier than she would have liked.

She sneaks out the door again and dashes back underground. The male charr are long gone, and Fiona makes her way back to her cell. She can sense the magic from the locks on all the doors, and it feels different from Deception. But… a lot of it is Facets of Deception. _Deception to operate a lock; of course. _

The door of her cell is shut. Fiona blinks and glances around in consternation. _Maybe they won't notice if I'm in a different cell,_ she wonders, glancing around at the other cells, their doors cracked open to admit prisoners. The row continues a little way and then turns right, presumably to more cells. _Why bother?_ Fiona wonders. _Did they expect to have a lot of prisoners? More importantly, will they notice I'm in a different cell if the old one is shut and the others aren't?_

But there's nothing for it, so Fiona slips into another cell. As the door swings shut, the magic on the lock shifts and changes. Fiona probes at it curiously, but it doesn't budge. She wishes she was out so she could inspect the other locks, but she's stuck now.

Fiona sets about concealing her foci - she slips them under the cot and piles dirt around them, taken from the wall behind the cot. Stepping back, she surveys the work - it looks no different than before, save that there is dirt under the cot now, but that shouldn't attract undue attention.

_Do I escape tonight?_ Fiona asks, but the question comes back negative. So Fiona settles down to sleep.

* * *

"Gladium Rox!" Centurion Vargok Hellforge snaps as he steps into the barracks. He'd been investigating and utilizing the skills of the gladium since he'd been promoted, much to the derision of the other Centurions, but it means that the gladium from the other Legions will do what he tells them.

"Here, sir!" Rox says, saluting from the back of the tent.

"Come here, I have a task for you," Vargok replies, turning to leave. Rox catches up to him within three steps from the doorway, and Vargok heads toward the western side of their temporary encampment.

The tri-Legion operation that took down the Citadel of Flame is finally on its way home, clearing out pockets of Flame Legion that had fled into hiding.

"I lost a scouting team," Vargok tells the gladium at last. "They were near the Dragonbrand. I want to know if they went in or not."

"Should I follow them in?" Rox asks.

Vargok considers the question for a moment. He would never ask one of his soldiers to go into the Dragonbrand alone, and he had not instructed his scouting team to do so, but they could easily have seen something worth noting if they did. He knows others in his position would tell the gladium to go on in, because gladium are expendable, but Vargok has been in that position before. "I'll leave that up to you," he says at last. "If you think there is any reason for it. I will say this, though - I did not send that scouting team in the Dragonbrand. If they headed in, they must have had a reason. It may be dangerous, so be careful."

"I will. Don't worry," Rox assures him.

"Good," Vargok nods, satisfied. "Set out as soon as possible."

"Understood, Centurion," Rox replies, saluting.

* * *

Forgal and Lightbringer Vriré had finally found the Flame Legion camp that their Risen assailant had described. It had taken them several days to locate the camp, despite taking the asura gates from Fort Trinity to the Durmand Priory, then from Lion's Arch to the Black Citadel.

This time, nobody is complaining about a wild goose chase.

Forgal is now peering eastward at the Flame Legion encampment from the edge of the Dragonbrand, wondering what to do now. He would very much like to have a Vigil - or Allied Legion - detail with him so he could properly engage the Flame Legion in a fight, but all he has is Vriré. The Lightbringer is a fair hand in a fight - Forgal does admit, if grudgingly and _never_ out loud, that she would have made a decent Vigil soldier - but as it is, they'll have to grab Fiona and get out - hopefully using her portals. If they have time to locate her foci.

Forgal's time fighting Flame Legion with Tiffany is paying off - he knows exactly how they will have defended their fortress and where they keep their captives. He'd hoped it would be a scattered gathering, possibly with infighting, but this seems to be a little more organized. "It'll be tricky," he tells the asura.

"Agent Fiona is smart," the Lightbringer reminds him, "and I have escaped my share of prisons in the past. If you can hold them off for a moment while I release her, we can fight our way out and find a place to hide. In any case, there is no use waiting." The decisive asura then suits action to word and starts off toward the encampment.

Shaking his head, Forgal follows her. It is nighttime, and he probably can't be seen as anything but a large shadow from the walls of the enemy's camp, but he does his best to remain quiet.

Four-fifths of the way to the camp from the edge of the Dragonbrand, the sound of a crystal shattering - loud in the otherwise quiet landscape - causes Forgal to stop. "I heard something," he hisses to Vriré.

The asura stops dead in her tracks, making absolutely no noise. But still the sound of footsteps draws nearer, crunching on crystal, with a large pause between each step. The footfalls aren't heavy, so it's not just a long stride - whoever is walking near here must not be large, but going cautiously. The most alarming part is that the footsteps are coming toward the two Champions.

Forgal and Lightbringer Vriré remain still as the footsteps get closer, and Forgal expels a breath of relief that whoever it is seems to be passing several feet to one side. Hopefully they will mistake the asura and himself for Branded and hurry by.

Instead, a familiar, surprised voice whispers, "Forgal?" An illusion unravels, and Forgal can see Fiona - and a female charr - standing five feet away. "What are you doing here?"

"Rescuing you," the Lightbringer snaps in a harsh whisper. "A walking corpse told us."

Forgal wonders momentarily if that had been an attempt at humor on the Lightbringer's part, but he decides that is probably not what she'd intended.

Fiona frowns. "Why would Syska tell you? I was perfectly miserable in there, just what she wanted."

_So Trahearne was right - it is Syska._ "Let's get out of here. Who's your friend?"

"This is Grania. She wants to get away from the Flame Legion."

"Understandable," Vriré replies, glancing around warily, and then several things happen at once.

A charr roars loudly. "Traitor!"

"Legionnaire Kadon!" Grania squeaks.

Claws flash; Forgal runs forward; Fiona screams in rage; an asuran-sized blur zips past him. Grania is on the ground with her throat slashed; Fiona is beside him with purple energy crackling in her staff.

Forgal stabs at Kadon; Kadon blocks. Vriré, axes spinning, appears behind the charr, who tumbles out of the way.

A portal appears beneath Forgal's feet, and he appears amidst a group of Branded. Two other portals bring Fiona and Vriré.

A large Branded monster looms up above Forgal, and he slashes. Crystals shatter into dust and drift away.

"Flame incoming!" Fiona shouts.

"Head south!" Vriré says quickly.

"Are you _stupid?_" Forgal snarls at her. "We need to go west! Nobody goes south to get out of the Brand!"

The Lightbringer rounds on him furiously. "Can you overcome your idiotic prejudices for _one moment_ and imagine that maybe, _perhaps_, I've BEEN in the Dragonbrand before?!"

Forgal clenches a fist, which trembles slightly. "I - don't - _care_," he growls out finally. "Be quiet unless you can say something _useful_." He glances around to orient himself, then sets off in the direction with no mountains looming in the distance.

"No, wait," Fiona says. "That's the wrong way."

Forgal glares at her. _Agent_ pops into his head. He clenches his fist again to stop his hand from trembling. Why had he decided to come here? Spirits know Fiona doesn't like him anyway, not after the incident with Deborah dying. "Well then, which way _should_ we go?" he demands.

Fiona points east, where there are mountains in the distance. Forgal grits his teeth. "That's _east_. We need to go _west._"

"I'm giving you one - last - chance," Vriré storms finally, her eyes glinting in the faint light from Fiona's staff. "I've _been here_ before, and if we want to get away from the _Flame Legion_, we will go south. Can you shut up the animal in your brain, norn, and see if you can stand to trust somebody who _might_ have more information than you do?!"

"Not after _that_," Forgal snarls.

Fire lights up the landscape, reflecting off Brand crystals. Forgal raises his blade to combat the new threat.

"Human," snarls the charr at the front. "I told you _not to disturb my warbands!_"

"Oh, sorry, Centurion," Fiona says lightly. Three clones of her appear. "I'd argue that I didn't, but I've had enough bickering from these two." She throws an illusionary sword at the Centurion, taking him by surprise. He dodges quickly, though, and Fiona's sword only spears through his right shoulder.

"Get them!" the Centurion roars, and Forgal is instantly confronted with a Flame warrior. He buries his blade in the charr's neck, then turns to the next foe.

"How are we going to get out of here?" Forgal hollers to Fiona.

"Maybe we _would have_ if you and Vriré didn't hate each other so much!" Fiona flings back.

"I don't - "

"Shut up and fight!"

He'd been about to say he doesn't hate Vriré. Her presence just so happens to put him on edge and infuriate him. He shoves his thoughts back and focuses on the battle.

* * *

Somebody or something had intercepted Centurion Vargok's scouts, but whatever it was had left a trail that Rox can follow - into the Dragonbrand. After a moment of hesitation, Rox goes in.

Following a trail is relatively easy to do in the Brand, since the crystals are so delicate - it is almost impossible to pass through without leaving traces.

The trail seems rather direct, no twistings and turnings, so Rox decides that it probably is not a Branded trail - but that just makes it more interesting.

Rox stops still and drops into a crouch when she hears the sounds of battle. She creeps closer, low to the ground and ready to fight.

When she is as close as she dares, Rox slowly rises from her crouched position, but she remains hunched and ready to drop at any sign of danger. What she sees astounds her. A three-way battle between a human and a norn, who seem to be on the same side, some Flame shamans, and Branded.

Rox doesn't move, even to leave. She still needs information for Centurion Vargok, and if there are Flame Legion involved, she needs as much intel as she can get. But as she peers at the battle, she realizes that she recognizes this norn and this human - Forgal and Tiffany, the Vigil warriors who'd come to help the Legions at the Citadel of Flame.

What they are doing here, Rox can't begin to guess. But here, they are sorely outnumbered, and even though they fight admirably, taking down many of the enemy, it is not long before they fall and the battle ceases.

Rox creeps carefully closer, and breathes a sigh of relief to see that they aren't dead, just knocked out.

"We can't let them get away to tell the Allied Legions," the leader is saying.

"Let's just kill them," one of the others offers.

The leader ponders this for a moment. "No," he says finally. "Bring them back. Clodian?"

Fire envelopes the charr and the prisoners, and they vanish in plumes of smoke.

* * *

"We'll need to touch up fortifications to the north and the east," Trahearne is telling Sieran. "Keep it simple; the watchmen just need cover and territorial advantage if we are attacked again."

"Understood," Sieran replies, saluting, and runs off to the east entrance, weaving Earth through her fingertips.

Trahearne turns, intending to look for Preceptor Doern, but he is accosted by a charr he doesn't recognize.

"Do you know where General Almorra is?" she asks anxiously. "I have news for her."

"I wasn't aware the Vigil had sent out scouts," Trahearne frowns in worry. This must be another communications glitch - he'd been fairly sure those had stopped for good. Maybe the Risen mesmer that had captured Fiona will be the first big threat that the Pact Champions take down as a team… at least as soon as Fiona is rescued. "That's Pact Champion Vriré's job, and she's been absent the last week or so."

The charr blinks. "I don't know who Pact Champion Vriré is, sir, but I'm no Vigil. I'm a part of the Blood Legion detachment in Ascalon, and I saw one of my friends and her partner overpowered and captured by Flame Legion. They're both Vigil and they helped us fight the Flame Legion."

"You are speaking of Tiffany and Forgal?" Trahearne asks. "They've been captured by Flame Legion?" Well, at least he has confirmation on where Tiffany had disappeared to.

"Yes, sir," the charr replies. "Uh, excuse me, but who are you?"

"I'm Marshal Trahearne. I'll send Pact Champion Sieran to…" he frowns. That won't work, Sieran is busy, and she is the only Champion still at Fort Trinity. "What about Vriré?" he asks. "Was Vriré with them? She's an asura, and she and Forgal should have been together."

The charr shakes her head. "I don't think I would have seen her if she was an asura, sir. It was dark and they were fighting a bunch of Flame Legion and Branded. I may have seen her and thought she was Tiffany's companion, though. I would have helped, but they were overpowered and my presence wouldn't have affected the outcome."

"I understand," Trahearne assures her. He'll have to count Vriré among the captured… how had the Flame Legion captured four Pact Champions in the space of a week - and three together? "How long ago did this occur?"

"Just a tick ago, sir. I waypointed and used the gates to get here."

"Thank you. I'll send Sieran with a squad of Vigil," he tells the charr. "Can you bring them to the site of the event? And what is your name?"

"Yes, sir," the charr replies. "I'm Rox, gladium."

Trahearne nods. "General Almorra is in Caer Aval right now, tell her to muster a Vigil response team. Tell her who has been captured and by what enemy, and what you can do to help." He tells Rox how to find Caer Aval, then sets off to find Sieran.

He tries to puzzle out what is going on. He hopes Rox isn't one of the Risen mesmer's disguises - but as like every report, this is too important to ignore on those grounds. The mesmer had told Forgal and Vriré of Fiona's location for some reason, and now they are captured as well.

His step quickens. The Pact needs to deal with this, and fast. This is deliberate on Zhaitan's part. The Pact Champions are the inspiration and morale of this alliance, as well as the heads of the main divisions within it. Of course Zhaitan would strike there - it's too simple. It hadn't killed any of them because it knew more Champions would be sent in rescue, and an exponentially increasing number of soldiers.

Just like at Fort Concordia, when the Risen lieutenant held Fiona at swordpoint, waiting for his surrender.

Zhaitan had already set the Pact on wobbly legs with this communication problem, and now it is disabling the Pact's main supports, one by one.

And this time, there is no reason to leave his friends to die.

"Sieran," he calls when he sees her. "We have friends to rescue."

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

Did you see what I did there? It's Trahearne rescuing Tiffany now (or so he thinks). Trahearne is _amazing_.

In case it wasn't clear, a day passes between Fiona asking the Dream if she'll escape tonight, and then the scene from Forgal's perspective where she does actually escape.

Again, SUPER sorry for the awful delay.

I make _zero_ promises for the next one. (gasps) _Oh! Isn't that… freeing!_ ZERO PROMISES! Not even 'check back next Monday!' Just go Follow the story so you get emails when it's updated (unless you've disabled that feature). There's also the option of using the code HwKw8vy to join the Tassof Friends Discord server, where I announce whenever I post. (And make inaccurate predictions of when I _might_ post the next one, if things go well and I don't get sidetracked by other things. Such as the brand-new story idea that danced into my head last night.)

And the citations for the all the Bible verses in this chapter (all from the King James Version):

_Trust in the Lord with all thine heart, and lean not unto thine own understanding. — Proverbs 3:5_

_But I say unto you, to love your enemies, and do good to them who hate you, bless those who curse you, and pray for those who despitefully use you. — Matthew 5:44_

Fiona made a reference to _'heap coals of fire on their heads'_ \- the full verse is: _If thine enemy be hungry, give him bread to eat; and if he be thirsty, give him water to drink, For thou shalt heap coals of fire upon his head, and the Lord shall reward thee. — Proverbs 25:21-22_

_Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamour, and evil speaking, be put away from you, with all malice. — Ephesians 4:31_

_Let not mercy and truth forsake thee: bind them about thy neck; write them upon the table of thine heart: so shalt thou find favor and good understanding in the sight of God and man. — Proverbs 3:3-4_

_I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me. — Philippians 4:13_

_For with God nothing shall be impossible. — Luke 1:37_

If you have any questions about what any of it means (or its relevance to the story, or why it was included, or why I'm making it a part of the story in the first place, or anything) send a review, PM, or message me on Discord!


End file.
